Sarah vs Omaha
by Zettel
Summary: Bryce 'invites' Sarah to 'Omaha'. Panicked by her kiss with Chuck, Sarah goes, leaving Chuck and Casey behind in Burbank. While Sarah labors with remorse, Chuck faces the rigors of a new handler, Casey guards Chuck's ladyfeelings, Graham and Beckman war to control the Intersect, and Fulcrum gains ground. Everything's in disarray. What happens next?
1. Prelude: Blue and Empty

**A/N1** The beginning of a new story.

Don't own _Chuck_.

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 **Table of Contents**

Prelude: _Blue and Empty_

First Arc, _Grace Abandoned_ , Chapters 1-5

Second Arc, _Look Homeward, Angel_ , Chapters 6-13

Third Arc, _Heaven-Fallen_ , 14-22

Postlude: _Brave New World_

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

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PRELUDE

 _Blue and Empty_

* * *

"Your bourbon, Mrs. Anderson."

The flight attendant held the clear plastic cup out, the brown liquid filling it trembling because of the vibrations of the engines. Sarah reached out to take it, hoping the attendant did not see the trembling of her hand, trembling because of the vibrations of her heart.

She was on her way to Bryce; she'd done as he 'invited' her to do when he mentioned _Omaha_. As Sarah took the proferred cup with her left hand, she saw the dull shine of the wedding ring on her finger. Her heart blanked. She took a gulp of the drink and gazed out the window. She was as blue and empty as the sky.

Graham had not been entirely happy about her choice when she called him shortly after she answered Bryce's call. Graham was glad enough to have the Anderson's back together, his best team back together, and back in the field against Fulcrum. But that meant surrendering the Intersect to the NSA, at least temporarily. Of course, he'd send another Company agent, but it would take time to make the right choice and get him or her briefed and on the way to Burbank. Graham never said it, but he clearly expected Beckman to move to secure complete control of the Intersect in the interim.

Sarah knew that Graham and Beckman were a more antagonistic pair than she and Casey were. Graham and Beckman were eternal rivals; she and Casey had been temporary rivals. In fact, she and Casey had become partners, a team: there was a real, if uneasy, unspoken understanding and respect, each acknowledging the skills and commitment of the other. Casey was, all things considered, a better, more predictable partner than Bryce. Casey did what saw as his duty. Bryce imagined he was in the movies.

One of the things Sarah hated about leaving was losing Casey as a partner. That was _one_ of the things she hated about leaving; there were others. And one of the others was the one she hated leaving much more, hated leaving the most...

She took another gulp of her drink, desperate to change the direction of her thoughts and feelings or stop them moving at all. She had no interest in getting drunk, but she would welcome a little numbness. The plane would land in New Orleans in the late afternoon, local time. Bryce would be at the airport to meet her. Once off the plane, Burbank would be gone. A memory, nothing more. She looked at the remains of her drink. Bourbon for Burbank. She resisted the sudden urge to make a sardonic toast to herself, to indulge in self-torment, self-laceration.

"Are you traveling for business or pleasure, Mrs. Anderson?" The attendant again, a little too friendly. Sarah was annoyed but hid it from the woman. Part of the annoyance was that she was unsure how that question would be answered. She forced a smile that she knew did not look forced. "Business."

She recollected Bryce's kiss...in Chuck's room. Bryce would be expecting more of that. Mixing business with pleasure. After all, she'd told him _he still had it_. She hadn't meant he'd still had her. But he took it that way, she knew. His tone on the phone made it clear that he expected the full re-institution of the cover marriage, the return of his 'conjugal rights', so to speak. Sarah refused to contemplate that. She'd face it once she was on the ground. Once it was all real. Once Burbank was gone.

Once Burbank was gone, she would decide what to do about Bryce and his expectations. Once Burbank was gone.

But she wasn't going to surrender Burbank until she was finally on the ground, until she landed. In the sky, she could still pretend she hadn't made the decision she'd made. She could pretend that she hadn't chosen the lesser of the two kisses she had experienced in the past few days, the decidedly lesser kiss. She could pretend that she hadn't left Burbank because of the greater kiss, the decidedly greater kiss. She could pretend that she wasn't pretending.

She was good at it. At pretending. Pretending in layers. Always pretending. She was no longer sure she knew when she was pretending and when she wasn't. The covers and the cons and the lies had gone so deep, so wide. What margin of reality was left? But she could pretend that she knew the difference between when she was pretending and when she wasn't. _When I said that I was lying I might have been lying…_

She looked out again at the blue and empty sky.

She opened her phone and thumbed through recent pictures. She was in some of them, smiling a happy smile. Was that smile a pretense? Was she pretending? _C'mon, Sarah, answer the question, yes or no_. But she refused to answer herself. Each answer terrified her. She shut the phone.

"May I get you another bourbon, Mrs. Anderson?"

"Yes, please." Another bourbon for Burbank. Another bourbon for... _Burbank_.

All-too-soon, she'd be in the Big Easy. With Bryce. Mr. Anderson.

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 **A/N2** Watch for Chapter 1, "Departures and Arrivals". It'll be along eventually.


	2. Chapter 1: Departures and Arrivals

**A/N1** Please bear with me over the next few chapters as backstory and context are supplied. I am, of course, mostly assuming canon, but I am adding a little and subtracting a little, and sometimes weighting imponderables differently or giving them a small twist.

Thanks for the enthusiastic response to the little Prelude! Since it was so short, I thought I would go ahead and start the story proper.

Don't own _Chuck._

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

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CHAPTER ONE

 _Departures and Arrivals_

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"Love is not a feeling. Love is put to the test, pain not…"

-Ludwig Wittgenstein, _Zettel_ 504

* * *

Casey reached up and clicked the computer off. The monitor went dark. He was done talking with Beckman. For now.

So the skirt, Walker, had actually done it. She'd left to join Bryce Larkin. From Casey's point of view, despite his knowledge that Graham had permitted it, Sarah was the spy-equivalent of AWOL.

Casey had spent two hours and three-quarters of a bottle of Johnny Walker considering this new development. He had not expected it, even if he had jabbed at Bartowski about the possibility of it. No, he had not expected it. He would have bet against it, in fact, bet _heavily_ against it.

The truth was that he was sure, sure, Walker _loved_ the moron. She had loved him from the beginning. She had already been in love on that dance floor, on that rooftop. Not only had she protected him from Casey, she'd trusted Bartowski to find a way to disarm the bomb in the hotel. Somehow, the moron had disarmed Walker, too. She had never really regarded him as simply as an asset, even if sometimes fear or exasperation made her treat him that way. And when she did treat him that way, she always apologized or found a way to touch him, something to give him, even if it were only a smile through the Wienerlicious window-she always made it up to him.

But the decisive action was one she performed early on. It caused Casey to be sure.

She didn't know it, but just as she had followed Bartowski to the beach that night after saving Stanfield, Casey had followed _her_. He'd been looking at them both through the night, through binoculars. Walker had not known he was there. Never suspected it. And Chuck had not known she was there. And so, Walker had let her guard down.

Casey could not see her face clearly until dawn, but he had no need: her posture was eloquent. She was sitting on the hood of her Porsche, staring raptly at Bartowski, barely moving. Thinking. Pining. It was written in her shoulders, her back, the set of her head on her neck, the movements of her hands. Casey had spent a lot of his life watching people through binoculars or surveillance devices; he knew what he saw. Walker had found something she wanted. Silhouetted against the sky, she had taken and held the posture of a homeless man looking into the window of a pastry shop.

She had taken off her boots as dawn came, and walked barefoot to the edge of the parking lot. As the sun showed itself on the horizon, she had shaken her hair loose, closed her eyes, and stretched luxuriously, a tawny cat in the warming light.

She had then resumed staring at Bartowski, pacing back and forth along the concrete, never quite touching the sand of the beach. It took Casey a minute, but he eventually realized that she was screwing up her courage to go and talk to him. Sarah Walker, Langston Graham's Enforcer, a legendarily beautiful spy with a reputation far more fearsome than even Casey's own, was timid about approaching...Chuck Bartowski.

She walked the edge of the lot where the concrete met the sand like she was walking on a wire in the circus. Whether she was conscious of it or not, the edge was clearly liminal for her. But then she crossed the line; she crossed over; she made her decision, even if not consciously, not deliberately.

Casey gazed through the binoculars, hypnotized, unexpectedly moved. He had never seen anything like it, unless it was during altar calls at church when he was a boy (back when he sang in the choir). She stepped onto the sand and stood still, wiggling her toes. She had her boots in her hand. She exhaled like she had been holding her breath for her entire life, then inhaled like she'd just been pulled up, heaving, from the bottom of the ocean. Then she began the walk toward Bartowski. She sat down beside him, a woman beside a man, and not a handler beside her asset. Casey put down the binoculars, started the car, left. He'd seen all he needed to see; he knew all he needed to know.

Casey should have called Beckman that morning and told her what he'd seen, what he knew...But two things held him back. First, he really hadn't seen anything that would sound like proof that Walker was compromised in the retelling of it, and he wasn't going to lamely tell Beckman, "Well, you had to be there, see it for yourself." But, second, he _was_ moved. The woman he knew by reputation was not the woman who he watched hold vigil through the night. The woman who had destroyed his SUV and incapacitated his men, that was the woman he had expected. But this woman, this woman on the beach, she was unexpected. Casey decided to keep her vigil to himself.

And he had. Even as he watched Walker fall farther. It was all perversely fascinating, really, watching a woman as professionally competent as Walker prove to be so personally and emotionally incompetent. She had no idea she had fallen, was still falling. Not that Casey claimed to be much more competent, but he at least had been in love before. This was clearly Walker's first time. She had somehow missed her own line-crossing, even though she had done it.

And Bartowski, _Jesus!,_ the kid was bewildered by Walker, completely and absolutely bewildered. The moron was mired in self-doubt on his best days, and a woman like Walker intensified that self-doubt. Walker's strange inability to know her own mind made it impossible for Bartowski to know it. Even worse for the kid, she coped with the situation and her own demanding but unacknowledged feelings by keeping Chuck always within reach but never in her embrace, turning the poor kid into the Mayor of Lukewarm Springs. Bartowski didn't know if she was hot or cold or what. It had been amusing when it had not been frustrating, and when it was too frustrating, Casey poked at one or the other of them. He tormented them because they were tormenting him. But he also slanted his reports, edited video and audio footage.

Casey was willing to let them continue their lugubrious quasi-romance as long as it did not keep them from producing results. Results, not rules, were what mattered: rules existed for the sake of results. Casey believed in the bottom line. And he realized fairly early on that as painful as it was to witness the two of them together, and to have to pull Bartowski out of his almost-daily funks or sulks, or to try to warn Walker without letting on about what he knew, the team was producing results. Bartowski, maybe it was just him, maybe it was the Intersect, maybe it was both, _didn't matter_ , Bartowski was a spying idiot-savant. Nothing he did or said made much damn sense to Casey at first, but it seemed over and over to work out. And Walker trusted Bartowski implicitly.

Things had been alright, really, if occasionally painful or annoying, until the sandwich girl appeared on the scene. For the first time, Walker began to get an inkling of the fact that she had crossed a line, had crossed over. That she felt something new. For the first time, she had an inkling of the fact that she had fallen for the kid. It did not surprise Casey that she handled it badly. _Some handler._ Her jealousy had been immediate and palpable. Well, it had to Casey, and surprisingly, although a little later, to Bartowski as well. At some point, even Walker clued into herself. She would not own it, but she had dimly realized that she really was jealous.

But something happened during that whole sandwich-girl debacle, something happened between Walker and Bartowski that Casey did not witness, did not know. But it had changed things. Bartowski was more hopelessly smitten than ever, but Walker seemed lost, dazed, unsure of herself. And then, before Casey could figure that all out, Larkin rose from the dead, alive and well and in Burbank. Walker was particularly hard to read at that point. Casey knew she was glad Larkin was alive. (Hell, even Casey was sort of glad about that, deep down.) But Casey was sure she had no romantic feelings for Larkin. Even if perhaps Walker herself was not sure about that.

Clearly, Larkin expected to start again wherever he had left off with Walker. He wanted her to go with him, into deep cover to take on Fulcrum. He made the Omaha comment as he left, clearly an invitation and code for a location. But Casey did not believe she would go. He was sure she would not go. Something had happened. But what? Theirs had been a great team. They'd gotten great results. Walker was the best partner he ever had. He had to admit, he felt a little of the sense of abandonment he knew Bartowski would feel when he found out. _Why had Walker given up on Bartowski? On herself? Why had she given up on the team?_

Casey had no time to ponder the questions. Beckman wanted to take the opening, to claim the Intersect for the NSA and only the NSA. She was going to talk to her superiors, to the President if necessary, and use Walker's leaving as a reason to leverage the CIA out of the future of the Intersect. The interagency rival was old and bitter. Beckman had other arguments too, but Walker leaving and Graham allowing it certainly looked like the CIA had taken its hand off the Intersect. And if they could take their hand off Bartowski, their hand didn't need to be on him at all.

It was really only because one of their own had (apparently) gone rogue that the CIA had gotten involved at all, that Walker had ended up in Burbank. Casey knew Graham had sent her mainly because he expected to give her a kill order for Bartowski. Graham had, among other things, been trying to save face. Larkin was a known favorite. The CIA needed to look like it could clean up its own messes.

No doubt Graham would fight back, and Casey had no idea how that war would end. But he had his marching orders. He was to intensify the surveillance on Bartowski and to otherwise keep the Intersect humming along. Casey was not happy about the last part of his orders. Walker had been the one who mostly tended to Bartowski's daily needs, most importantly to his need to talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, to examine and reexamine his feelings, to fondle his ladyfeelings. Casey wanted no truck with that nonsense, but for now, anyway, he had no choice. _Damnit all, Walker!_ Why would she choose Larkin over Bartowski? Larkin was lame before he died and he was still lame after his resurrection.

ooOoo

The flight attendant welcomed the passengers to New Orleans. They were on the ground. Sarah put on her game face. It was time to let go of...whatever it was she was holding close to herself. It was time to surrender Burbank. There was a mission. A new mission. It did not involve...anyone in Burbank. She gathered her purse and slung it over her shoulder, then she pulled her carry-on out of the overhead compartment. She had replaced all her Sarah Walker IDs with her Sarah Anderson ones. It was time to be Bryce's wife.

She trailed behind the other passengers through the airport. She had been in the airport there many times. She knew where baggage claim was, and she knew Bryce would be there, waiting.

And there he was. He had on jeans and a dark t-shirt, a Saints cap pulled down low on his face. Sarah jolted. He was wearing a pair of black Chuck Taylors. She stalled in the hallway, gaping at him. He hadn't seen her, seen her reaction. He was smiling at someone else, a willowy woman with dark hair standing by the carousel. The woman smiled back. Bryce took a step toward her, but then looked in Sarah's direction and stopped. The dark-haired woman followed his gaze and looked at Sarah for a moment. Then she turned her attention back to the clump of black suitcases circling in front of her.

Bryce's smile was redirected to Sarah. Sarah huffed to herself in annoyance. She was never sure of it, but she suspected that Bryce had never actually treated their...relationship...as exclusive, though he said he did and though he knew Sarah had. But she had figured that Bryce had a set of rationalizations for the asymmetry she suspected, probably rationalizations no more compelling than that he was a man and a spy and that certain things just went with the territory. Sarah had never confronted him with her suspicions. She was still unsure why. Even when they were in Cabo, she had not hinted at what she suspected.

Bryce stood and waited for her to get to him. He gave her what she knew was his most dazzling smile. She smirked internally. She'd always called that his Farmer Montgomery smile, since she was more or less certain that the smile was the combined efforts of dentists from the Farm and Roan Montgomery's classes. She giggled to herself. Maybe Chuck was right. Maybe she was funny. She remembered...No. She made herself stop remembering. She halted with her suitcase a few feet from Bryce. He kept the Farmer Montgomery going for a few beats more, then leaned in, targeting Sarah's lips. She leaned in too, but at the last second, she turned her face. His kiss landed on her cheek. She turned just enough to half-kiss his cheek.

When she pulled back, he gave her a look of surprise, but it passed almost immediately, followed by a darker expression. She smiled at him, not her best smile, but it would have to do for him right now. It had been a long day. A hard day. She realized her hands were still trembling. She balled them into fists.

"Huh." Bryce remarked, the edges of his mouth drooping just a bit. "That's not the kiss I was expecting."

"I'm tired, Bryce. I need a shower, a handful of aspirin, and a cup of coffee. Do you have rooms?"

"I have _one_." He smiled and waggled his eyebrows slightly. That annoyed her; it also sent a pang through her chest.

"One?" Her tone was sharp.

He waved his left hand, the wedding ring. His answer. "The Andersons. Gotta sell it."

She had nothing to say to that. It was what she signed on for. She knew that was the cover. "Right. Sorry. So much has changed so quickly. I'm still trying to catch up."

His look in response to that was flat, speculative. Unlike Cary Grant, Sarah's favorite actor, Bryce was not at his most attractive when he was thinking.

She pulled her suitcase into motion. "Lead the way, Bryce."

* * *

 **A/N2** Bryce in Chucks, human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together, mass hysteria!

Tune in next time for Chapter 2, "The Anatomy of Melancholy". It won't be up until I have finished the next chapter of _Too Old For This_.

By the way, the scene in the parking is, in part, a kind of homage to a different sort of scene in Arya's prayers spy-fy Russian novel, _Becoming_. Both scenes are anchored to a line from a Counting Crows song, and mine is further anchored to a line from Crowded House's _When You Come_.


	3. Chapter 2: The Anatomy of Melancholy

**A/N1** More context. But things to come start to take shape; the story moves ahead.

Thanks for the reviews and PMs! Please keep them coming.

Extra A/N at the end of the chapter.

Don't own _Chuck_.

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

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CHAPTER TWO

 _The Anatomy of Melancholy_

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"[T]hou canst not think worse of me than I do of myself."

― Robert Burton, _The Anatomy of Melancholy_

* * *

Chuck was worried, nervous. Frazzled. He'd spent his shift at the Buy More looking out the front, waiting for Sarah to show up for work. She never did. He had thought about calling Casey, but it was likely that Casey would just make fun of him or make him even more frazzled.

Omaha. She had not gone. She wouldn't go. Bryce. She had not chosen him. She wouldn't choose him.

Omaha and Bryce.

He had been unable to think of anything else. Those two words repeated themselves in his head until they were brute sounds against his mind's ear, meaningless except for their capacity to make ice form in the pit of his stomach.

When he got off, he went straight back to the apartment and straight back to his room. He dialed Sarah's number. Rings but no answer. He did not want to leave another voice message. He had already humiliated himself enough in the previous six. _Ok, thirteen_. _Ok, fifteen._

He pulled his curtains shut and got in bed. He needed some dark and quiet. He needed to pull himself together. He closed his eyes only to see her. The memory of her face somehow quieted him and made him miserable all at once.

Omaha and Bryce.

He was not sure he could live through another _Jill_ again. God, no.

 _Chuck and Jill went up the hill  
_ _To fetch a pail of water  
_ _Chuck fell down and broke his crown..._

 _...And Jill and Bryce left Chuck there to bleed out_

Stop. Fracturing nursery rhymes is not helping. It had been bad with Jill. He had not been with Sarah long. Actually, he had never really been with Sarah. Cover. Cover. Not real. But short and fake, he knew: if she was gone, it was going to be worse than it was with Jill. _Lifetime plan but no font_ bad.

But Sarah had not gone. She would not go.

Omaha and Bryce.

Chuck had been tense all day, wound round and round like the rubber-band engine of a toy plane. And so, in the cool dark of his room, it all caught up with him; he suddenly unwound. Mercifully, he slipped into sleep.

ooOoo

They got to the room, Sarah still pulling her bag. Bryce had chatted at her in the car, but she had not responded much. He was not talking about the mission, so she let the words pass by her without really attending. She pretended to be looking out at the city. But she was trying to understand why he hands were still atremble. They would not stop. So she had balled them into fists again.

Sarah was familiar with numbness. It was a constant in her life. She could normally find her way to it, create it in herself. Retreat into unfeeling. She had started trying to create that each time Chuck had called her. But even though she let the phone ring, unanswered, the numbness would not come. Each ring was like the blare of an alarm clock, loud and insistent. Each ring hurt. She knew there were messages from him on the phone. And she knew she should have discarded the phone before she got on the plane. But she when she stopped by a trash can in the airport and pulled the phone out, she could not do it. She just stood there, phone in hand, the trash can waiting. And then her hands started to tremble. Or, then, she first noticed they were trembling. Now she wasn't sure which. But she needed to get the tremble under control. Bryce would notice, eventually, if he had not already noticed. And a spy with trembling hands was a liability.

She closed her eyes and tried to take a deep breath. But her chest was constricted, tight. She beckoned numbness, called it to her. It didn't answer.

ooOoo

 _Crash!_

Chuck shot upright at the sound, the sound of something heavy tumbling to the floor. He whipped his head around, taking in his room, trying to locate the source.

"Goddamnit!"

Chuck located the source. Casey was sprawled on the floor of Chuck's room, face down. One leg was still in the Morgan Door, and Chuck could see that Casey's shoelace had caught on an uneven piece of the window frame. Chuck and Morgan...and Sarah all knew about it, knew to avoid it.

Chuck shook his head, started to grin. _Wait! Casey used the Morgan Door? What was going on?_ Chuck watched Casey move his leg, freeing the lace. Chuck knew better than to help. After a minute, Casey stood. He looked at Chuck, daring him to react. Chuck thought about that experiment in science in junior high, the one where the class was able to get a boiled egg to squeeze through the neck of a coke bottle: that was Chuck's image of Casey coming through the Morgan door. He wished he had seen it. He fought back a smile.

Casey wasn't smiling. But it took Chuck a second to realize that it wasn't just Casey wounded dignity that powered the frown on his face. It was something else. Entirely.

And the chill returned to the pit of Chuck's stomach, full Antarctica. He knew. She was gone.

ooOoo

They'd gotten to the room. The hotel was low high-end, nicely appointed, new-ish, more than respectable. A restaurant and a couple of shops on the first floor were on the first floor, along with the expected lobby. Bryce led her to the elevator and they were lifted to the 11th floor. Bryce got out and, after a couple of turns in the hallway, he pulled a keycard from his wallet and swiped it in the lock. The little light turned from red to green. Bryce looked up at her as if to ask if she noticed that change. He opened the door and stepped aside so that Sarah could enter the room first.

The room was a suite. There was an outer room with a large tv, a couch and a couple of chairs and a minibar. Through that was the bedroom. Bryce had left the curtains in the bedroom open, and the low-angled sunlight of the afternoon filled it. It glowed the same dull gold as the wedding ring on her finger. Her chest tightened more. Bryce walked to the bed without speaking and sat down on the end of it. He crossed his legs and began to unlace one of the Chuck's. Sarah realized she was staring again, not a Bryce, but at those shoes.

Sarah but her bag almost on the head of the bed, the other end from Bryce. She started to unzip it. Her hands did not seem to want to work quite right, but eventually, she got the bag open. She grabbed her toiletries bag and went into the bathroom. She closed the door. And then, as silently as she could, she locked it. Predictably, the seat was up on the toilet. She lowered it and the lid and then sat down. She was staring at her hands, the ring on one of them, when water began to drip on them. It took Sarah a moment to notice, and then a moment more to notice the drops were tears.

She felt like she could not breathe. Each successive breath was more shallow than the preceding one. Her mind was racing, her heart thumping, her hands still trembling, and all the while she was slowly suffocating.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and pulled up a picture, a contact photo. She looked at it. As she did, the panic slowly receded. Even the trembling eventually stopped. Looking at the...picture...his picture... _Say the name, Sarah, just say it_...Looking at Chuck's picture, helped. But it hurt too, caused an ache so real and deep that it seemed like the world itself ached too. Still, she could breathe again. She put the phone away.

There was a quiet knock on the door. "Hey, Sarah, are you ok? Can I get you something?"

She had forgotten Bryce. "Um, yeah, I don't want the coffee we can make in the room. Any chance you could get me one. I saw a coffee shop across the street, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did. Remind me again, how do you take your coffee? What do you want? They'll deliver to our room."

"An Americano, black. Nothing else."

"Ok. I'll call now." Sarah got up, quietly unlocked the door, and walked back to her suitcase. She zipped it closed and began to roll it to the closet. As she went past the end of the bed, she saw Bryce's unlaced Chuck Taylors on the floor, one sitting upright, the other on its side. Sarah slowed as she passed and kicked them both beneath the bed. She could not bear to look at them.

ooOoo

Graham put the file down on his massive desk. Yes, she would do. She would do. He looked at the photo, not because he did not know what she looked like, but as preparation. He had to be ready. She would be in his office soon. No meeting with her was easy. She was a handful, a handful of razor blades.

She also hated Sarah Walker passionately. She judged that she ought to have had the position at Graham's side, so to speak, that Sarah had all these years. Certainly, she was deadly enough to have had it. Skilled enough. But she was...well, it was hard to say, really. She was... _off_. Walker could scare Graham, although he thought he had never let the fear show. But when she had scared him, on the rare occasions when she fought him about a mission or disagreed with him about the value of an outcome, he understood her, understood why she scared him, scared him then, there. Walker did not scare him all the time. But this woman...Juniper Thorne, _June_ Thorn, she scared Graham all the time. Just sitting in his office, apparently chatting amicably: she scared him. Or maybe 'scared' really wasn't the best word. Or maybe it was. Maybe 'appalled'? Did she appall him? Maybe. Anyway, she would do. Bartowski was about to be _handled_.

Walker had convinced Graham that her non-seductive friendship approach with Bartowski was best, would produce the best results. And Graham would admit, the results had been good. That did not mean they could not be better. Bartowski was, at the end of the day, government property. It was time to push him, to see just how much they could get out of the Intersect, to find out what the Intersect's limits really were. And if that broke Bartowski, fine, it broke Bartowski. He was more trouble than he was worth. Graham secretly wished that Bartowski had run from Walker at the beginning so that she could have ended him. _Oh, well_ , _c'est la vie_.

Graham had spent the morning on the phone, fighting back Beckman's immediate efforts to claim the Intersect wholly for the NSA. He had managed to get the _status quo_ restored. He explained that Walker had been required for an urgent deep cover assignment, and that the CIA was in no way yielding their share in the Intersect. But Graham knew he needed to move quickly. Beckman would not stop pressing her advantage. He needed an agent on scene _asap_. Thorne would do.

Her orders would be simple: _Do whatever it takes to get everything out of the Intersect_. Graham would leave the parameters of 'whatever' and 'everything' open to Thorne's interpretation. Of course, he wouldn't say that explicitly. He just would supply no interpretation of the parameters to her. And if her interpretation caused...unfortunate results, Graham could blame her for misinterpreting him. After all, he was the Director of the CIA. She was a Special Agent with a...spotty record.

ooOoo

Casey finally said it. "She'd gone. Gone with Larkin." Bartowski's face had fallen before the words were spoken. He had figured it out. Casey swallowed the twinge of sympathy he felt. It would not do either of them any good to show it.

Chuck's gaze sank to the floor. They held those poses for a long time. Casey standing, arms crossed, watching Bartowski. Bartowski staring a hole in the floor. Casey waited him out. When he looked back up, his eyes were questions.

"Did she leave a note, tell you to say anything?"

"No, no note." Casey considered lying about whether she had said anything. She had not said anything, of course, but maybe he could give the kid something. But then Casey realized he had no idea what Walker might have said. It almost certainly would not have been "Happy Trails!", which was the first thing that leaped into Casey's mind. So he went on. "And, no, she didn't say anything. For what it's worth, I found out about it from Beckman. The skirt," Bartowski's eyes narrowed, "Walker...she just went. She talked to Beckman and Graham. She's going deep with Larkin." _Shit! What the hell did I just say? Sometimes I think the only language I speak is Asshole._ Bartowski's face collapsed in on itself. Casey could see him turning the phrase over in his head.

"Look numbnuts...I mean, look, kid, she's gone." Casey tried to soften his tone, with mixed results. "Neither of us can do anything about it. We just have to move on. I just heard that the CIA is sending a new handler. He or she arrives in a couple of days. I don't know how that will work. Until then, we need to get back to work. We have a new mission. Let's go over to my place. The briefing is in ten minutes."

Bartowski nodded as his head fell to his chest. Casey stood there for a bit before asking, "Are Ellie and Devon here?" Chuck shook his head. "No, they've gone out of town for a few days. Some kind of...romantic getaway." Those final two words seem to suck all the air out of Bartowski and his room, and Casey was relieved to leave it and leave the apartment. He got outside to the fountain before he realized Bartowski was not behind him. He did not go back for him. He would give the moron a minute to pull himself together.

ooOoo

Sarah had taken some aspirin. When the coffee arrived, she and Bryce sat down in the front room and he began to outline the mission. Sarah listened carefully. A New Orleans crime family, the Garlands, had ties to Fulcrum. The matriarch of the family, Gretta Garland, was likely a high-ranking member of Fulcrum. The family laundered money for Fulcrum and performed...other services.

The goal was to infiltrate the family and become close to Gretta Garland. She'd run the family with efficiently and remorselessly since her husband disappeared a decade ago.

Sarah studied her photograph. She was 50, but still a very handsome woman.

"She prides herself on her looks and on her prowess. Not just in business, but in bed. She is rumored to have a taste for younger men…" Bryce flashed the Farmer Montgomery, making clear much of the rest of the plan by just that expression.

"But won't it cause problems if you're _married_?"

Bryce shook his head. "No, it will help. Especially since I am married to you. Gretta likes to win, to prove that she more desirable than younger women."

"So, we infiltrate and then you run a seduction on her?"

Bryce nodded this time. "Right. Of course, I just need to get close to her, see if I can find a way to get information on Fulcrum, particularly on the Fulcrum brass, so to speak. Close. Close but no cigar." Bryce grinned at himself, at her. Her expression did not change; his expression sobered. "Close. Nothing more."

Bryce reached out. Sarah thought he wanted the photo. She held it out, but he took her hand in one of his, and took the photo and dropped it on the coffee table with the other.

"Close, Sarah, but nothing more. I want a new start, a new start with you." He was staring into her eyes the way he used to, back at the beginning of their relationship. She remembered the gravitational force of that stare.

She remembered it but she no longer felt it. Her only thought was that she wished she could turn his blue eyes brown.

She turned from Bryce and from that thought. She got up. Paced so as to loosen the words. "Look, Bryce. You are going to have to give me some time. A lot happened. I believed you went rogue. I believed you were dead. I grieved for you. I can't just re-set myself to months and months ago and act like all that never happened." _All of that is true, but it is not the whole truth._ _Something else happened too._

Bryce pursed his lips. "Ok. I know we need to talk. But I just want you to understand. To understand what I am hoping for."

Nodding, Sarah made no other reply. She recalled Bryce and the woman at baggage claim. Had she misread that moment? Or did Bryce simply think that a new start would include his old habits? Or maybe her suspicions about those habits were wrong? She had not felt the old gravitational force, but maybe she would again, in time? After all, she'd just been in the bathroom, looking at...that picture. Maybe she ought to delete the all the photos from the phone, or to throw the phone away altogether? _You know you should, Sarah._ New Orleans was not Burbank. Burbank was gone. Or she was gone from Burbank.

Same difference. But everything was different now.

Bryce went back to the mission, evidently willing to let what had been said suffice for now. Sarah sat back down. She realized she heard a trumpet player, playing sad and low out on the street, blue notes.

ooOoo

Sarah was back in the bathroom. She had put on her least flattering pajamas and made sure all the buttons were buttoned. The last few buttons had been tricky, because the trembling in her hands had returned, as had the tightness in her chest.

"Trust me, Chuck."

She had said those words to him. At the moment she said them, she had not deliberated over them, although she said them sincerely, as sincerely as any words she had ever spoken. It had taken a few days for it to dawn on her that she had never asked anyone to trust her sincerely. She'd said the words to marks or assets, but never meant them. But she had meant them that night, and she still wanted to mean them. But she had left, left him. Things had gotten too...complicated.

"Trust me, Chuck."

 _Trust me to screw up your life then abandon you. Trust me to be a coward. Trust me never to have any business with a man like you. Trust me to destroy your trust. Trust me to destroy anything I...Just, trust me._

 _All spies are liars._

A scrap of song sprang unbidden to her mind, maybe a lingering effect of the trumpet she heard earlier. She must have heard in the song in Burbank. She could only recall the chorus. It had stung her when she heard it, and so stayed with her.

 _I got the password  
_ _I got persuasion  
_ _A proposition for invasion of your privacy  
_ _Give yourself away and find the fake in me_

Sarah looked at the woman in the mirror, the blue-eyed, empty spy in the mirror. Chuck must hate her. Sarah hated her more.

* * *

 **A/N2** [Clears throat...] Tune in next time for Chapter 3, "Behooved and Behicked and Behulked". Nighttime reflections. Missions start in New Orleans and Burbank. June Thorne arrives.

 **A/N3** I posted my first words of fanfiction a year ago today. And here we are about 750K words later. (I guess it's fitting that I celebrate my anniversary with a melancholy chapter.) As many of you know, I have been writing for a long time and published a lot, but all of that has been philosophy or literary criticism or poetry. I hadn't tried fiction since high school, and back then I had written only short stories. (I guess they were ok: they got me hired by the local arts council to teach a fiction writing class. Boy, that class was weird. I was 17, writing stories for a collection of dark, existential tales I called "Diary of the October Man", but I was teaching mainly retired women who were hoping to publish romance short stories in magazines or to publish children's stories. Ahem!) Anyway, I put down my fiction-writing pen shortly thereafter and did not pick it up until the tail end of last summer.

I thank those of you who have stayed with me through so many words. I deeply appreciate those of you who have reviewed and especially those of you who have reviewed steadfastly. Many of you have become friends-you know who you are.

Thank you, again!

Zettel


	4. Chapter 3: Behooved and Behicked

**A/N1** More of our story. The players are assembling. Thoughts thought. Feelings felt. Life proves unpredictable.

Thanks for your responses. They keep the story humming along. It's a lot more fun to write when you know there's a responsive audience.

Don't own _Chuck_.

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

* * *

CHAPTER THREE

 _Behooved and Behicked and Behulked_

* * *

"Before one goes through the gate  
One may not be aware there is a gate…" R. D. Laing, _Knots_

* * *

Sarah left the bathroom. There was one light on in the bedroom, the lamp on Bryce's side of the bed, the side nearest the bathroom. He was in boxers, supine on top of the covers. He looked at Sarah as she came into the bedroom. When he noticed her pajamas, he tried to keep from looking crestfallen. He failed. Sarah did not look at him after that. She marched around the bed to her side. She grabbed a pillow and headed to the front room. She could feel Bryce's gaze on her back and backside, as she did. He cleared his throat. Sarah ignored the sound.

Sarah tossed the pillow on the couch and sat down. She heard Bryce get up and then get back in bed. Likely, her retreat had driven him beneath the covers. She smirked bitterly to herself.

Her stomach was a smoldering fire pit. Sarah had not eaten all day; she felt too...off...to eat. The combination of bourbon and the Americano on an empty stomach was proving to be a bad idea.

The light clicked off in the bedroom. Sarah reached up and turned off the lamp at the end of the couch. She stayed seated, hunched over, trying to find a posture that would ease her discomfort. She had never felt like this before. Her breathing was still labored. Her heart smacked wetly against her chest, and it was as if each smack vibrated to the ends of her fingers. A dull ache re-started in her head, as the aspirin she took earlier began to wear off. She felt sick. But more, she felt _wrong_ , wrong all over.

She allowed herself to just topple over onto the couch, transfiguring her hunched seated position into the fetal position. She hugged herself. Squeezed her eyes shut. And finally surrendered.

 _They were going to die, the two of them. Chuck could not disarm the bomb. A few seconds more of life, no more. No more. But instead of fear, Sarah was flooded by a storm surge of desire: sexually charged,_ oh yes! _, but so much more. More layered, nuanced, reticulated (Where had she heard that word? Harvard, a biology class._ Biology class _? Of course.) She kissed Chuck, grabbed him, pulled him not only to her but all against her, maximizing surface contact. If she was going to go, she did not want to go alone. If he was going to go, she did not want him to go alone. They'd go as one, not two._

 _But they hadn't gone. Seconds had passed, maybe minutes,_ who knew?, _and they pulled apart, still there, two, not one. Sarah had masked her reaction; she had not felt merely 'uncomfortable': she had felt utterly exposed, naked before another person in a way that she had never been before in her life. She'd never known she could be_ one _with anyone._

 _She was usually two all by herself. Sarah Walker and Sam: the first cool, controlled, beautiful, deadly. The second vulnerable, shaken, hurt, clutching her own knees to her, her head down, locked away in the depths of Sarah's heart. Sam was never exposed to the world. Sarah processed everything, censored it, marked it with careful inattention or deliberate forgetfulness, a psychological black magic marker. Only a redacted version of the world ever reached Sam. But Sam had escaped. She had been there. She had kissed Chuck too. It was Sam's first kiss. The kiss shook Sarah, and it shook Sam, floor to rafters. It loosened the screws that held the hinges on their life. Neither of them had any previous experience for comparison, any frame of reference in which to situate it, any resource to make sense of it._

 _And then, not long afterward, Sarah kissed Bryce. Or he kissed her, although she admittedly kissed him back. Bryce felt and smelled familiar against her. His Farm-trained lips moved through their practiced routine, pleasant enough, but familiar in the wrong way, a kiss-by-numbers. Bryce gave her a kiss. He was focused on it, on how it went, on creating a reaction. Chuck kissed her when he kissed her back. Her lips knew the difference. Chuck's kiss had been an act of adoration, and its focus was on her, the woman he so obviously adored. Bryce's kiss had been a perfectly executed act, but its perfect execution was the focus, not Sarah, not really. Bryce would've kissed any woman the same way._

 _That was part of what she meant when she told him he still had it. It was partly her own Farm-trained assessment of the kiss. It had not only been that, she knew. She was so shaky, so mixed up by kissing Chuck, and by Bryce being still alive, that her own lips and body had betrayed her, responding before she'd had a moment to sort what was happening, settling into the familiarity of Bryce, of the kiss. And she_ was _glad he was alive. But despite her words and despite her response, Bryce's kiss was a clear, pairwise loser. Chuck's kiss was so vastly better it seemed different in kind, not just degree. And Sarah had not given Chuck a kiss, a kiss-by-numbers, a Farm kiss. She kissed him. Focused on him. Adored him._

 _But for Chuck to see her kiss Bryce, after she'd refused to talk about their kiss...and while Sam was still dancing inside her in response to Chuck's kiss, undisturbed by Bryce's kiss, swaying from side-to-side, her fingers pressed gently against her lips, her eyes alight, still trying to understand all that it meant…the total exposure, the total exultation._

 _And Sarah finally knew. Chuck had been able to reach Sam all along, had reached her all along. He had helped her escape. He had let her out._

 _But Sam was no longer dancing. She was now in the same fetal position as Sarah. The two were one._

Despite her position, though, Sarah felt better. A little. Sleep claimed her. She dreamed of curls, kisses, and explosions.

ooOoo

Chuck caught up with Casey. They silently entered Casey's apartment. Casey peered at Chuck out of the corner of his eye. The kid was green. He was moving but automatically. Getting him through the briefing would be tricky. If Beckman saw him this bad, if Graham was there and saw him this bad, he would become the Boy in the Bunker. At least that was Casey's worry. Part of Casey actually thought that might be a good thing.

Out here, in the spy life, Chuck would eventually get himself killed. He had zero instincts for self-preservation. He rushed in where spies feared to tread. Casey did not want to see the kid a corpse. But he also knew that the kid lived in and for other people. To put him below ground would be like trying to grow a sunflower in a cave. _Did I just think that? Sunflowers? Goddamnit._ The kid would, in time, wilt and die. He might not die physically, but he would die nonetheless. He would eventually give up, simply go through the motions. It would not be easy, but Casey wanted to keep the kid above ground, keep the kid alive, keep him doing what he had been doing with the team. To do that, though, he would have to find a way to cauterize the bleeding hole in the kid's chest. _One hell of an exit wound: shit, Walker_.

They seated themselves in front of Casey's computer monitor, and, precisely on time, he lit up and Beckman was there. She shot Casey a follow-my-lead look, but she could have said it aloud. The kid would never have known. He was staring at the floor, not at the monitor, and he was clearly lost inside his own head.

"Good evening...team. We have had a change, as you both know." Casey nodded once, barely, just to make sure that Beckman knew he had told Chuck, as ordered. "I know that will create the need for an adjustment. Things here in Washington are fluid. I will let you know more when we talk tomorrow. The mission you have is one that you will need to see to in the morning. A skilled hacker who calls himself 'Nova' has been putting out subtle feelers on the dark web. He has information that he claims will be of great interest 'to the right parties'. He's been cagey, but we worry that he has found his way to information on various American intelligence agents, stationed or working both here and abroad.

"An NSA analyst who had privileged access to such files has gone missing, but there was brief activity using his password yesterday. If it was Nova, as we speculate it was, he covered his tracks well. We don't know what he saw, if anything, but the timing and the password make us worry he may indeed have accessed very sensitive data.

"He's set up a meet in LA tomorrow at a local coffee shop...called, um, ah... _Bump and Grind."_ Beckman kept her face straight. "We haven't been able to identify the person who is to meet Nova. I need Chuck there to see who meets him. Maybe we will get lucky and Chuck will flash. We think it is likely someone who belongs to Fulcrum. This is the sort of information they have been after for a long time.

Beckman leaned in toward the screen. "Casey, you have to make sure that the file never leaves the coffee shop. Secure it and return it to us. I will make a team available for back-up."

Beckman paused, turning her attention wholly to Chuck, who had barely looked up during the briefing. "Is the Intersect...unwell?"

Chuck looked up, his eyes moist. Casey rolled over in his desk chair, obscuring Chuck from view. "The Intersect is fine. It's been a long day. He's understandably shaken about the changes in the team. He will be fine. Fine. We'll get it done tomorrow. You can still depend on us."

Beckman shifted her gaze to Casey. He knew he had not fooled her exactly, but her gaze told her that his willingness to make the effort had bought him and Chuck some time. "Ok, Major Casey. I am depending on _you_." The screen went dark.

Casey was getting ready to yell at Chuck when he realized how counterproductive that would be. "Go home, kid. Drink a little if you have to. Shout or throw things. Whatever. But for your sake and mine, and those agents out there, be ready to do the job in the morning."

Chuck did not respond. He got up and walked to the door. He stopped. He spoke while facing it. "I'll figure it out, Casey. This thing in my head brought her here. I hoped it would keep her here. I guess I knew I wouldn't." Opening the door, he exited without further comment, closing it behind him.

Casey stared at the door for a minute, then spat on his own floor. "Goddamnit, Walker." He sat still for a minute, then got up, got a towel and wiped the floor. He deposited the tool in a clothes basket, grabbed a fresh bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. He went to have a drink with the moron.

ooOoo

Sarah stood in line at the coffee shop. She still had no appetite, but the thought of eating did not revolt her, and she knew that she and Bryce had a long day ahead of them. They were implementing the first part of the plan today. Bryce was still asleep. Sarah left him a note and then went outside, walking a little, trying to take deeper breaths. Eventually, she entered the shop.

She got to the counter and the barista, a tall young woman with long red hair, asked for her order. She asked for an Americano and a plain croissant. The young woman rang it up and Sarah paid her. She asked for a name.

"Sarah."

Sarah found a table in the corner. She sat down, her back to the wall.

"Trust me, Chuck."

She heard the words in her head again. They sounded dark to her now, like she had cursed him, surely, but herself too. She should have asked to be reassigned as soon as she realized that she had said those words and meant them. _What did she think she was doing?_ Who was she to make anyone promises, to invite dependence on her? She had told herself that all she meant was that she would protect him and his family. She had meant that, but it had by no means been all that she meant.

That was the problem. What it all meant. What did she mean? What was she vowing to Chuck on that beach? It was as though her words had reached out in front of her and committed her in a way that she had not realized. They'd reached all the way to and past Sarah's horizon at that moment. Out past the morning's rising sun.

She and Bryce were going to a function this afternoon, one at which Gretta Garland would be present. The point was to make sure she saw Bryce and then that she saw them, Bryce and Sarah, together, as a married couple. They had to sell it for the plan to work, or so Bryce contended. The file on Garland suggested he was right; he wasn't just using the mission as a way of re-establishing some kind of intimacy with her. But she would have to let him touch her and hold her, kiss her. No part of her wanted any part of that. She had grown more sure of it last night. But it was the job; it was the assignment. There was no way around it. She was his cover wife and she was a professional. She did her job. _Except when I don't. Except when I run._

ooOoo

.

Bryce woke up and realized quickly that he was alone in the apartment. He found Sarah's note. It did not surprise him. They had never spent much time abed together even when they were a couple. Sarah grew antsy as soon as their needs were sated. She normally kept a room for herself and she would slip away to it. Bryce had not objected. He had always grown antsy too. It had all just been part of a relationship with Sarah Walker. He was sure she had felt something. She treated their relationship as exclusive. It must have meant something.

But he did not. But he was prepared to do that now, he thought. He would never be immune to the charms of other women, of course, but he could keep his gun holstered. Even if it was unnatural. For him. At least he was willing to give it a try. Being exclusive with Sarah Walker did not seem too high a price to pay for being with Sarah Walker.

Bryce really did not know her very well, but that was all right. Theirs had never been a relationship predicated on knowledge of one another. He never asked her about her past. She never offered. He knew of her agency past and that was enough. She seemed to feel the same way. Neither of them could depend on the future, given the life expectancy of agents who did what they did, so they had never peered ahead. They were what they were, no less, but no more either. There was no vector of growth in what they had, only the hope of maintenance.

He was puzzled, though. He had been since he woke up in Burbank and especially since he kissed her. Something had felt strange about her and about the kiss, unfamiliar. She responded, but her heart hadn't been in it. Why? Yes, she thought he was dead. But he wasn't. _All good._ No, Burbank had changed her. He was not going to be able to win her back as he hoped until he figured out why and how.

If he had not known better, he'd have thought there was something real under her couple cover with Chuck. _If he had not known better_ : but he did. First, Sarah was the consummate professional; she did not break the rules or overstep her boundaries. Second, Casey had to have watched them like some evil-tempered bird of prey. And third: _C'mon, man...Bartowski?_ Chuck was great and everything, but he was a boy and he always would be. He had no chance with anything that did not come with an instruction manual. _Sarah Walker certainly did not come with an instruction manual_. And look at the ruin Chuck had let his life become after what Bryce had done for him at Stanford.

Yes, Chuck had friends, and Bryce would admit a twinge of envy there. But the friends were the League of Losers, all clad in Buy More green, the time-clock at the store ticking off the moments of their lives. Besides, Bryce had basically given up on friends when he'd saved Chuck from the CIA. Bryce thought of what he had done for Chuck as the first heroic sacrifice in a life of quiet patriotism.

ooOoo

Sarah had been adrift in her thoughts. The barista called out, "Sarah?"

Sarah answered reflexively, holding up her hand, her mind elsewhere. "Here I am!"

The barista located her, and as she did, Sarah heard another voice, a familiar voice.

"Sarah? What are the odds? Wait, Sarah, what are you _doing_ in New Orleans?" Ellie had Devon in tow, and they were both suddenly standing in front of Sarah.

ooOoo

June Thorne was sitting in her seat on the plane, her short, jet black hair slicked down. She was dressed in a short, snug black dress and black high-heel sandals, decorated with multiple silver buckles on the straps that climbed to her knees. She crossed her legs and admired them. She knew the men in the seats across from her were admiring them, too. Fine, let the sons of bitches go home and work it out, rhythmically admiring the memory of her. She crossed her legs again, just to give the men another, better angle, a close-up of the other ankle. June found the power of being desirable intoxicating, as always. Exercising power of any sort always intoxicated her.

The plane would be in the air soon. She looked again at Bartowski's photo. She laughed to herself as she had each time she looked at it as she went through the file. She'd flipped back to it several times. Although June wouldn't use the term aloud in mixed company, she couldn't help but think it to herself.

 _What a pussy._

* * *

 **A/N2** Ouch. POVs are fun, but the interiors of some heads are frustrating, and some are dark carnivals. This story is going to let the characters speak and think for themselves. Buckle in, buckle up. Tune in next time for Chapter 4, "Home Away from Home".


	5. Chapter 4: Home Away From Home

**A/N1** Welcome back.

I'm moving fast now, in part because that is how I do things when I get involved in a story, but in part, because the way I write requires that the reader remember what went before: not just the characters, objects, and events, but particular turns of phrase, images, metaphors. Many of those are load-bearing for me across the story. And it is easy for them to slip from the mind after a few days. That said, I will not likely keep going at quite this pace for much longer. I will ease up. But I wanted to get into the thick of things before I de-accelerated at all.

Also, I have moved fast because I know that this is so far a dirge. It's a dirge because of how I understand the salient moment in canon. Sarah has, we might say, three ways to respond to The Kiss. (1) The canon way: deny, and refuse to acknowledge it, and keep the status quo; or, (2) the _Cables to Aces_ (an earlier story of mine) way, where she takes a leap of faith and then sorts through the consequences of leaping; or, (3) the _Sarah vs. Omaha_ way, where she runs and then sorts through the consequences of running. (3), our current option, is going to frontload the story with depressing stuff, especially if you believe canon-Sarah (as I do, obviously) that she fell in love with Chuck very early on (and believe, as I do, that Chuck fell for her with similar rapidity).

But, like that opening scene in _Live and Let Die_ (a scene set, remember, in New Orleans), a dirge can turn into something else entirely, a dance party. All it takes is a trumpet blast. Keep the faith.

Thanks for the reviews. If you like the story and want it to continue moving ahead quickly, the best way to get that to happen is to leave a review. If I didn't want and need the feedback, I'd just write these stories and email them to a few _Chuck_ friends.

Don't own _Chuck_.

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR

 _Home Away from Home_

* * *

"All live human movement in space is experienced as a going away or a coming back…[I]n a profound sense, the task of [human beings] is to find 'the way home', and indeed this task is founded deep in the essence of [human beings]." -Otto Bollnow, "Lived-Space"

* * *

Sarah was a practiced liar. She had learned from her father about tells, and later learned more still from the CIA. She had learned to lie without compunction and so without blinking or licking her lips. Of course, there were still involuntary micro tells, but those were nearly invisible to the naked eye. She could lie as naturally as she could tell the truth. _Or am I lying to myself about that?_ She needed a lie now. Desperately. Ellie was waiting, Devon too. Their expressions were getting more and more confused, and worse, more and more curious. That curiosity would metastasize into suspicion if Sarah did not speak. Soon.

Soon. Conversation had a musical score, a time signature. Crucial to being an effective liar was telling the lie on the beat, telling it in tune, saying the words to the conversational melody. Sarah was several beats behind. She could not hear the melody. She had forgotten the words. Her mouth was open but no sounds were being made.

"Sarah?"

Ellie's brows knitted. Devon took Sarah's coffee and croissant from the barista who had been standing there, grinning at the awkward moment, since she was no part of it.

"Sarah, are you ok?"

 _No. No. No. I am so not-ok. I told your brother to trust me and I deserted him. In the most painful possible way. I am here with Bryce Larkin. I cannot breathe. I cannot stop trembling._

 _I cannot do my job. I did not see you come in. I still have my phone. I cannot stand the thought of Bryce touching me, even if I know it means nothing, because I know what it would mean to your brother._

 _Sam refuses to go back to her cell._

"Sarah, is there a problem? You seem upset."

"No, Ellie, I am fine." Her voice, at last. She could speak. "I just never expected to see you two here. I'm...shocked." That, at least, was true. Had Chuck told her? Had she forgotten that Ellie and Devon were going to New Orleans? No. She had barely talked to Chuck since the kiss. She had not forgotten. She had not known.

"Well, Sarah, it was kinda a last-second thing," Devon responded. "El was complaining that we hadn't _been on the bike_ in a while, if you know what I mean…" Sarah noticed that Ellie was not really listening to Devon. She was studying Sarah. Devon waited for one or both women to react but neither did. He cleared his throat, swallowed, became quiet.

After a long moment during which Sarah managed nothing but to shuffle her feet, Elle leaned in, putting her hand on Sarah's shoulder, solicitous. "Sarah, really, I don't mean to pry, but we're...friends. Why are you here?"

 _We are not friends. It doesn't matter how I feel about you or you about me, Ellie. Everything's changed. And even before we weren't really friends. I was lying to you all the time. Friends don't lie to each other._

"I'm here...for Wienerlicious. They needed someone to train employees at a new store here, and Scooter, you know, my manager, he'd been sending in glowing reports about my work, and they asked if I would come. I think they are considering me as a future manager." Sarah finished, gulping hard, the compunction thick in her throat. She blinked.

 _There I am. The liar. But I am a better...worse?...liar than that. What is wrong with me?_

Devon broke in. "Ellie, I hate it, but we paid all that money for the exclusive swamp tour, and we'll miss it if we don't get going." He looked at the long line they had stepped out of when they saw Sarah. "We can grab coffee to-go, somewhere on the road to the tour site."

Ellie was clearly on the knife's edge. Sarah could see that her concerned curiosity was not satisfied, but she could also see that Ellie could think of no way gracefully to challenge what Sarah had said.

"Ok. Well, good luck with the training and the managing thing…" Ellie let the wish trail off, an indication that she was not satisfied. "We'll see you at home." Her look hardened just a bit.

Devon, oblivious to the subtext, laughed. "Can't wait to tell the Chuckster that they might make you the manager of weenies. I know he will be happy about that title." Devon laughed low, inviting them to react, to laugh too. They did, this time, a little. Ellie pulled Sarah to her in a slightly stiff hug. "See you when you get back." She and Devon left the shop. Sarah stood there with her coffee and her pastry. She dumped the pastry in the trash, staring at it as it sat on the top of the pile of paper and refuse. She sat back down. The only good thing about what had just happened was that Bryce had not walked in. But Sarah expected him soon. He knew where she was. He would want morning coffee. He would want to go over the plan for later.

ooOoo

Elle waited until they were outside the coffee shop and away from its window. Then she grabbed Devon's arm, forced him to stop.

"What is it, El?"

"Did...Did that all seem...off...to you? Did Sarah seem weird?" Ellie could not shake a feeling. She was now really suspicious.

Devon shrugged. "We did surprise her."

"I know. But...did she really seem ok?"

"I guess. I mean she's hard to read. I sometimes wonder what Chuck sees in her, to be honest. She's a beauty, no doubt, and smart. But kissing her must be like kissing the Sphinx. You know, hard and inscrutable."

Ellie shot him a look. "You've thought about that?" When he looked hurt, she relented. "No, I know what you mean. I've had the same thought. I've never entirely bought the two of them…" Ellie looked at her watch. "I know we're going to cut it close, but I have something I want to do."

"What, Ellie?"

Elle smiled sneakily. "You ever want to play spy, Devon? I used to play with Chuck when he was a boy, sometimes for hours if he'd just seen a Bond film. Let's do a little stakeout."

Ellie pulled Devon to a nearby bench. Ellie put on the straw hat she had in her bag for the swamp tour. They sat there for a few minutes. Devon began to take obvious glances at his watch. All at once, Ellie stiffened, her breath caught. Devon looked up. A handsome man in a pair of shoes like the ones Chuck wore was entering the coffee shop.

"Bryce-Fucking-Larkin!" Ellie breathed out the name as one word, the whole thing a curse. After waiting for the man to go into the shop, Ellie stood up decisively, sweeping her glance around her. She saw what she wanted. She walked over another man, standing on the sidewalk in a bit of shade. He was heavy and sweaty, lumbering along in sticky, scented New Orleans heat. She approached him, smiling her sweetest, most innocent smile.

"Sir, sir, I'm visiting here with my boyfriend and my friend. She's in the coffee shop with her fiance. He doesn't like to have his picture taken, and she wants a picture of them together. If I give you my phone, could you sneak near them and take a photo? I'll happily pay you for it. And she'll be so happy."

The man pushed back the purple and gold LSU cap on his head and regarded her. She smiled again, putting all she had into it. He grinned in response, then shot a quick, envious glance at Devon. "Sure, miss, I'll do it. Keep your money." His accent was syrupy with Louisiana sugarcane. "Just give me the phone. How will I know her?"

"She and her fiance both look like movie stars. Don't ask me why he's so camera shy. But it's important that the shot be natural, so you need to make sure neither one of them sees you. She'll know you're there, but she won't give it away. Don't draw their attention or make eye contact." The man nodded and lumbered into the shop. Ellie stood there, waiting anxiously, holding her breath. A minute or two later, the man came out. He was smiling and looking at Ellie's phone. He redirected the smile to her. "They look like they belong on tv." He handed Ellie the phone. She grabbed it a little too eagerly, then apologized. "Sorry, I'm just excited. She's going to be so happy."

The picture was a good one. Bryce was seated at the same table as Sarah and they were leaning in toward each other. Sarah had Bryce's hand in hers. Ellie felt her heart drop and her stomach roll. Sarah Walker was a liar, a _huge_ liar. And, evidently, a pretty good one. _Poor Chuck._ _Bryce Larkin!_ _How could Sarah know Bryce Larkin? Bryce Larkin is dead, isn't he? Obviously not._ It was strange. Strange that she was not as shocked by seeing a ghost as she should have been. But then, she'd never seen Bryce dead and had never shed any tears, really never given Bryce another thought. He'd been dead to her before he died and he was dead to her now that he proved still to be above ground.

Damn Bryce Larkin, undead or alive or whatever he was. It was like the Universe was dead-set on destroying her brother, and Larkin was its chosen... _tool_. She'd have to tell Chuck, have to show him the picture. Did Chuck know Bryce wasn't really dead? Why did she think he did? Everything with Chuck had been so weird lately. But this weird? She tasted bile.

Devon took one look at Ellie's face and blanched. "What is it, El? What's this all about. Who is _Bryce-Fucking-Larkin_? Larkin? What a minute, isn't he dead?"

Ellie grabbed Devon's arm. Then she loosened her grip and deliberately gentled her voice. None of this was Devon's fault. "C'mon, sweetie. Let's see if we can make that swamp tour still. I'll explain on the way. And I don't need coffee. Maye a Sprite or a Ginger Ale. I think I'm gonna be sick."

ooOoo

A little while after Ellie and Devon left, Bryce came into the coffee shop. Bryce sauntered to Sarah's table and sat down, but not before he'd flashed that smile at the barista. The barista had flushed and looked away, but then she had studied Bryce's rear as he walked away from her. The barista's eyes got a certain look in them. Bryce looked back at her over his shoulder as he sat down.

He grabbed her cup of coffee and took a drink. He pushed it toward her, but she pushed it back to him with a _Take-It_ gesture.

"So, what's the exact plan for today, Bryce?"

Bryce sat there for a moment, slowly letting a smile take over his face, a glint enter his eye.

"Well, I was thinking we could go back to the room and...relax each other. You seem tense, Sarah."

Sarah was immediately angry. The morning had been a wreck. She was not sure whether she should tell Bryce what had happened or not. For now, she was going to keep it to herself. It was unlikely to affect anything today. She could make a final decision later. _Chuck will know where I am._ She made herself push the thought to the side, unable to think it without her whole body reacting to it.

"Bryce, listen. That...that's not going to happen on this mission. I don't feel that way about you anymore." _Whatever way that was._ Bryce's smile left his face far quicker than it took his face over. "Well, Sarah, it's likely going to be a long mission. I can wait." He eyed her for a moment. "Can I ask what's changed?"

 _Burbank._ "You abandoned me, apparently went rogue, got killed, Bryce. _What's changed?_ How hard is that to understand?" _Abandoned. A theme in my life, passive and active._ "I can't just get over those things, like this." She snapped her fingers. She reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it hard enough that he winced. "Don't push on me, Bryce. Just leave me...alone." _Because that's the choice I have made. Not being with you. Being alone. And I now know that being with you was a lot like being alone. Two, not one._

Sarah glanced up in time to see a large man in an LSU cap, looking at his phone, start through the door of the shop. She had a funny feeling about him for a moment, then Bryce started talking again.

ooOoo

June woke up in her apartment. It was hideous green. Graham put her in the same apartment Walker had used. Walker's faint vanilla/citrusy scent still marked the place. Every breath pissed June off. She'd stop and buy something later, Lysol maybe, and spray the place down.

She showered and put the short black dress and high-heeled sandals back on. She wanted to make an impression.

She drove the rental jeep to Echo Park. She scanned the parking lot. Neither Ellie's car nor Devon's was there. She had expected them to be at work; that was their normal schedule. She wanted Chuck alone. His Nerd Herder was there. She smiled a contemptuous smile. _What kind of loser had they saddled her with? Well, she'd quickly make sure he was the one wearing the saddle._

She strolled to the door of the Bartowski apartment. She leaned over, her lock picking tools already in her hand; she had grabbed them as she left the car. A second later she was inside. _Domestic hell._ She wandered through the apartment, looking at pictures. After a moment, she crept down the hall to Chuck's room. She opened the door silently. He was asleep. She walked in, taking in the _Tron_ poster, the guitar. Exactly as expected. She noticed a picture on the bed beside Chuck. It was a picture of him and Walker. A spike of rage shot through June. She put one knee on the bed, then bounced herself over, on top of Chuck, straddling his middle. She smacked his face, hard. He looked at her, shocked, hurt, disoriented. She could smell liquor. She smacked him again.

"Wake up, Chuck. There's a new sheriff in town!" He struggled to get out from underneath her, but she was very strong and she had the advantage.

"Stop fighting. Just lie there. I'm June Thorne. Consider me a...gift from Langston Graham."

ooOoo

Casey was standing by his window, the shutters barely open. He could not face the Big Light. He and Bartowski had not gotten seriously drunk, but Casey had still woke up with a piece of dirty flannel glued to his tongue. He took a swallow of the very hot, very black coffee he had made for himself.

He had on only his boxers. He noticed a woman at Bartowski's door. He dropped his cup, the hot coffee splashing out, burning his feet. "Shit! Shit!" He knew her. June Thorne. His CIA cleaner buddy talked about her now and then. He called her Calamity June.

Casey needed pants. _Calamity June_. _Shit!_

* * *

 **A/N2** Oh, boy. Tune in next time for Chapter 5, "Strict Time". Missions. Refusal and rebellion. Chapter 5 will end the first arc of the story.


	6. Chapter 5: Strict Time

**A/N1** More context, but integrated into the unfolding of things. I am twisting canon (Intersect/Intersect Project) just a bit in order to tell the story I want to tell. Not a big twist, but I want you to warn you.

Thanks for reading, reviewing and PMing. Stay in contact, please. It's hard to get yourself to write for a vacuum.

 _Nota Bene_ : Thanks to Nomadic Nerd, who first caught a gaff in the posted version of the last chapter. I posted the penultimate version, it turns out, not the ultimate one, and so left out a short but non-trivial part of Ellie and Devon's reaction to seeing Bryce. (I should have known that I had posted the wrong version. I kept finding typos I thought I had fixed. Sometimes I am a danger to myself.) Thanks, NN. Apologies to any and all I may have confused.

Don't own _Chuck._

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE

 _Strict Time_

* * *

"There's a hand on a wire that leads to my mouth…"

-Elvis Costello, _Strict Time_

* * *

Beckman was livid. She wanted to crawl across the conference table and claw the self-satisfied smirk off Graham's face.

"June Thorne? And is she already there?" Beckman slammed the thick file on the table, and pages fanned out like cards from a deck. "And you got the President to sign off on this replacement? She's...she's.."

"... _Effective_ , Diane. I think that's the word you are looking for. I simply explained to the President that we needed someone on the scene who would take the Intersect in hand. Really and truly handle him. We need to know what the Intersect can really do. We've coddled him, babied him, spoonfed him. He belongs to us, Diane. And though we never asked for Chuck Bartowski, we have him. We should find out what an Intersect can do. Discover its limits."

Beckman forced herself to regain a semblance of composure. The President's aide was in the room and a member of the Senate Intelligence Committee. Graham would grab any little advantage and use it against her.

"You know they have a mission today?"

Graham smiled serenely. "Yes, and Thorne has been read in. She will oversee the support team you sent and monitor the mission. She needs to observe the Intersect in action."

Beckman forced herself to speak softly and slowly. "But her record, Graham…"

"What about it," Graham asked, the smirk now a serene smile being used to goad her. "She's never once _failed_ on a mission. Never once. You've seen it for yourself." He made a sweeping gesture at the pages fanned out on the table.

Beckman clinched her jaw, grinding her teeth silently. "True, she has never failed a mission. But her successes have all been so costly. And I don't mean in dollars and cents, although there is that. I mean in life and suffering. She salts the earth, Graham. No matter where she goes, when she leaves, nothing grows. Walker was a killer, I grant. But using her was like pointing a laser. Using Thorne is like drunkenly swinging a mowing scythe. She's...well, pardon my French, but she's fucking Death."

Graham shot a look at the President's aide and the senator, a "Do you see what I see?"-look. "Well, Diane, that's...overdramatic. Those romance novels you read to help you sleep must be leaking into your system." He said it like a joke.

It was not. How did he know? She tried to cover her involuntary blush by rubbing her face vigorously. _Oh_ , she would grant, _he was good_. He knew things about her, about her home life, and he was making sure she knew. The CIA had been watching her: a blow below the belt just to make sure she knew how serious Graham was about not only being part of the team in Burbank, but how serious he was about not being questioned about Thorne. The stakes had gone up. _But why? What was Graham playing at?_ She did not have time to think about it. Graham was talking again.

"The President has seen Thorne's file and he has agreed with me. She's the man for the job." Graham smirked again, his eyes glinting, hard. "I admit, she can be...overenthusiastic. But Walker, well, we both agreed that...there were _concerns_...Perhaps she was compromised. Perhaps not." Graham gave another stagey shrug for the benefit of the other two people in the room. "Either way, she protected the asset, not just from others, but from _us_ , Diane. That was sub-optimal."

Beckman opened her mouth to protest, but Graham waved her off. "And, yes, I know Walker was my choice. I'll admit it. She was not a _failure_ , though. The thought is that perhaps she could have been _more successful_. I believe Thorne will be. The President has agreed." And with that underlined a second time, Graham seemed to feel comfortable lapsing into silence.

Beckman's knew something was going on. Under the ice of Graham's demeanor, things were swimming around. Scratching beneath the surface. He was up to something. The President had not just volunteered his agreement. Graham would not have dared blackmail, even if Graham had just threatened her with it. No, it was something else. Some bill of goods he was selling to the President. Some deeper policy.

She had to give this round to Graham. But by winning, he surrendered something. She just needed to figure out what it was.

ooOoo

By the time Casey got to Chuck's room, Thorne was seated in a chair beside the bed. Bartowski was sitting up in bed, clear, red handprints on his cheeks. His eyes were round.

Casey glared at Thorne. He had never seen her up close before. She had very white skin and almost purple eyes. Her black hair was cut short. It looked like she had styled it just by shaking it out after her shower. No makeup. No polish. Just a little black dress and heeled sandals that looked half Parisian runway, half Spartan soldier. One foot was swinging from the leg that she had crossed over the other.

"John Casey. Glad to meet you, partner." She gave him a smile, daring him to respond.

Casey took the dare. "'Partner' for me is a term of respect." He could hear the growl in his own voice, welcomed it. "You have to earn it. And you sure as hell don't get points for smacking the asset." _What had happened?_

Her smile cooled but did not disappear. "Go ahead and call him the _Intersect_. I'm fully read-in, operational. I'm the new handler, after all." She deliberately seemed no longer even aware of the kid's presence in the room. _Hell, mind games. Just what we needed._ "And Graham has explained to me that the asset...the Intersect...is the property of the U.S. government. I will handle that property as I choose, and you will support me, Casey, or I will make things very difficult for you."

The threat did not move Casey, not for himself, not at all. _Screw you, Thorne._ But Thorne allowed her gaze to snake toward Bartowski as she finished. The threat was not just for Casey; she was making that clear. It was also for Bartowski, _primarily_ for Bartowski. The handprints were there for Casey. The slaps themselves had been for Bartowski. She'd have access to Bartowski all the time. Hoping to keep her from doing anything else to the kid, Casey nodded, yielded. _For now, psycho._

"So, are we ready for the mission?" She finally turned her gaze on Bartowski. He had his hand on his cheek. He was still stunned. She gave him a cruel, predatory smile. "Now, what's this place called? The coffee shop. Oh, yes, _Bump and Grind._ Maybe we should just call it _Larkin and Walker_. Unless I miss my guess, he's got her bent over somewhere, deeply bent over, and he's bumping, and she's grinding. If you listen, you can almost hear them..." Casey stepped toward Thorne. Chuck's eyes finally focused. His face flushed beneath her handprints.

But she stood up and walked to Casey, looking up at him with her strange purple eyes, and no trace of fear. "It's time for the asset to get his head out of Walker's ass. Walker was playing him from the beginning. I'm not going to play him. I am going to _run_ him." She bent down and picked up the picture of Walker and Bartowski that was on the floor. "And if he runs as I say, well...maybe we can work out a system of rewards. You know, like a clicker, or maybe... treats." She threw the picture on the bed so that it landed face down. "New day dawning. Time to put childhood away."

"I'm going to meet the backup team. I will oversee things from there. You two get ready and head to the coffee shop. Give us a few minutes to set up. We should be there a little while before you are, to make sure everything is ready. Here's my cell number, Casey." Her voice became husky, almost robotic. "Memorize it and then destroy it." She laughed lightly as she walked out of the room, her hand reaching out to muss Bartowski's hair as she passed. "I love getting to say stuff like that."

ooOoo

As men walked by, Sarah wished she had not had to do what Bryce wanted: dress the part. But she had to. So she was standing, waiting for him to pay the cab driver, in tall heels and a very short blue dress. They were at one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, attending a luncheon function for charity. Gretta Garland was overseeing it. The plan for the day was simple, although they had gone over it several times at the coffee shop. Sarah and Bryce would play a happy, handsy married couple. The aim was to get Garland to notice them and in particular to notice Bryce.

Sarah had moved Bryce's hand from her back when they were leaving the room. "We do that sort of thing when it's necessary, not before."

He smiled and shrugged. "But it needs to look natural."

"I think we can pretend successfully, Bryce."

"Well, you can pretend, Sarah. I'm going to remember." Sarah let that line go.

Her hands were still giving her trouble. She clutched her small purse with both hands as she waited with Byrce, hoping to keep them still or at least to hide the trembling. The men walking by were staring at her. "C'mon, Bryce. Let's go inside."

Bryce finally finished up and turned to her. "Sorry, he had to make change, and it took him a minute to count it out."

They went up the canopied, carpeted stairs into the plush restaurant. Bryce explained who they were to the hostess, and showed her the invitation the CIA had somehow managed to get for them. The hostess led them through the crowded main dining area, to a separate room at the back. Bryce put his hand on her back again as they went through the door, and she gave him a generous smile. They were making their entrance. A lot could hang on the next few minutes.

A man walked up, barrel-chested with cropped gray hair, and he put himself in the path of the hostess. She stopped and handed him the invitation. "The Andersons. Bryce and Sarah."

Bryce ran his hand down Sarah's arm and then interlaced his fingers with hers. She flinched at his touch inwardly, but showed nothing outwardly. The only person she wanted to touch her like this was far, far away. She would never see him again. Whatever Ellie told him, it would likely only harden him against her more than he already was. The thought made her chest tight again.

She did what she always did when emotions swamped her. She pretended that she was not there, that the emotions had another owner. That they were not hers. But she could not seem to pretend that she was not there, because Sam was there too. Sam had noticed Bryce's touch and recoiled from it. Sam was dreaming of Burbank and unclear why she was not there.

The barrel-chested man led them to a table and seated them. They said polite, perfunctory hellos to the other people around the table. But the room quieted. A tall, statuesque woman stood up to speak. She had brown hair and brown eyes. Sarah could detect traces of surgery around her eyes and mouth, and it seemed likely other parts of her had been surgically improved. Still, she was a quite beautiful woman, and the plastic surgery, while detectable to Sarah's skilled eye, was minor and did not distort the woman's features. The woman, of course, was Gretta Garland.

She looked around the room. Sarah had often heard the phrase 'owning a room' but she had never seen it happen quite so clearly as it did then. Garland owned the room. Within a few seconds, it was hers. Everything was still. Everyone was waiting. Gretta scanned the room once more, and her eyes paused for a moment when she saw Sarah and Bryce. Bryce, his timing good, chose that moment to drape his arm around Sarah's shoulders. A brief spark of interest showed in Garland's gaze and then she finished her scan of the room. Sarah tried to take a deeper breath of relief. That had been textbook.

Garland then gave a brief, impassioned speech about the plight of poor children in Louisiana, about the difficulties they faced getting shelter, food, and education. After providing some illustrations and talking about one of her own trips into some of New Orleans' more challenged neighborhoods, Garland asked everyone at the luncheon to dig deep and to make things better for these children.

Sarah made herself not think about what she had seen in Garland's file. The horrible things she was suspected of, or perhaps implicated in. The evil hypocrisy was too much to dwell on, especially with a sharp steak knife on the table in front of Sarah.

"And so," Garland drawled on in her odd Hoboken-near-the-Gulf accent, "do all that you can to help. We who are more fortunate owe it to others to share our good fortune." She smiled, her teeth very straight and very white. Sarah looked at Bryce out of the corner of her eye. He was projecting rapt attention and deep interest. As Garland finished, she seemed to be looking right at Bryce. "Thank you for coming, for letting me see your faces, for reminding me why I do what I do."

There was a round of enthusiastic applause. Everyone began to eat. Sarah moved the steak on her plate around, cutting it several times but never taking a bite. She ate a few of the uninspired green beans. She drank some sweet tea, so sweet it made her teeth hurt. Bryce, she knew, was looking for opportunities to make further eye contact with Garland, and the plan was for Sarah not to notice.

Dessert came around. Bread pudding. Sarah took a bite. It was good, the _creme anglaise_ particularly. But she did not want it. She stared at the bowl. She wanted...Chuck.

This Sarah/Sam distinction, while real enough in its way, gave expression to a new but fundamental fact. _Chuck changed me_. The spy who asked him to trust her was not the spy who first walked to the Nerd Herd desk. She did not understand the changes.

She was doubtful she could change back. _You can't go home again._ _Burbank._

She could be a spy with Chuck. Could she still be a spy without him? All the feelings and reactions that she had deactivated over years, he had reactivated in minutes, then encouraged. But she had never had to be a spy without _him_ but with _them_. With all these feelings, open to the world, unable to edit it or shut it out.

Chuck helped her find her way with all of that, even when he didn't know that was what he was doing. He was helping her discover a different life, a different way of living. But she was still working that out. She was still in transit. _Sarah the Traveler._ And now she did not have her traveling companion. Now she had Bryce.

She let herself think about Chuck for a moment, and not just the kiss. _Him_. She dwelt in the thought of him and did not disown it for the first time since she'd said yes to Omaha.

Chuck. _Chuck_.

Her hands steadied, but her heart broke.

It was a strange trade.

ooOoo

The Crown Vic purred through the LA streets. But Chuck was oblivious to the car and the city. _What the hell just happened?_ He had been slapped into wakefulness by a raven-haired harpy. No play slaps. Hard, cruel, painful slaps. _G. I. Jane in a little black dress. G. I. June._ Clickers? Treats? Property? Chuck was normally respectful of women even in his private thoughts. He tried hard to be, always. But: _Bitch!_

How was she going to fit into his life? What was the cover? They had to figure out some story about where Sa...she had gone. _I need to stop thinking about her. I will never survive if I think about her. Stop!_ How would he explain this Thorne creature to Buy More folks, to Morgan? _God, to Ellie?_

Casey had not spoken since June left, but Chuck knew him well enough by now to know that he was worried and concerned. No doubt it was concern for the team, although Casey had come over and had drinks with him last night. They had not talked. Casey had punctuated the drinking with various grunts. Although later in the evening Casey had slurred something odd about how love was confusing: he seemed to be thinking about his own life, and Chuck knew better than to pry where Casey was concerned.

Chuck tried to still his thoughts. Like Kirk in that episode of _Trek_. Chuck was too upset to remember which one, and besides, trying to remember would be the opposite of stilling his thoughts. He stared out the window of the Crown Vic. He tried to be empty.

ooOoo

June was humming to herself in the van. This ought to be amusing. Bartowski would be no challenge. She was obviously right about him. But Casey complicated things. She was not sure yet, but she thought the ape actually liked the geek. That would make things complicated, but more fun, more rewarding. Breaking Bartowski emotionally would have emotional consequences for Casey. Two birds, one Thorne. No doubt Casey was a hard ass. But he was also by-the-book, do-your-duty. The NSA rulebook was Casey's bible. June had no rulebook, no bible...unless it was _120 Days of Sodom_. Mmhmm... a good _book. Ha!_ She giggled to herself, shaking her head.

She understood Graham well. She understood her orders. She'd been given _carte blanche_. But she also knew Graham was wily. He was setting her up. He was hoping for a particular outcome in Burbank, and he had chosen her because of that hope. Well, while it was not her style, June could be wily too. Oh, yes, she would leave a mess behind her in Burbank, a smoking hole in the California earth. _Like the one that swallowed Sunnydale_. _I so miss Drusilla!_ She would leave a mess, _oh, yes_ , she would. That was her style. But she would find a way to make it Graham's mess.

ooOoo

Graham was in a good mood. A whistling mood. Crisis not only averted but capitalized on. Burbank was in, well, not _good_ hands, but the right hands. A handler was in place.

Graham had convinced the President that what mattered was the Intersect Project, not the Intersect, not Bartowski. Bartowski only mattered insofar as he could aid the Project. Bartowski was a lab rat, with a comparable life expectancy. Graham had not said that last bit aloud to the President, of course.

So far, Graham had hidden the Project from Beckman. She thought it ended when Larkin blew up the White Lab. But that had actually only intensified Graham's efforts, and convinced him that he needed to hide the Project even more effectively. The President did not actually know the degree to which Graham's efforts had intensified or the amount of money he had diverted to fund the Project. Graham wanted Intersected Agents. He wanted Intersects who did what they were told. What he told them. He wanted Intersects who could take action, make decisions, _pull the goddamn trigger._ Having Bartowski as the Intersect was like having a powerful computer trapped in a Magic Eight Ball. " _Should we stop the bad guys?" Shake, shake, look: "Bartowski says: Ask Again! And say 'Please'."_

With Intersected Agents, the CIA would enjoy a massive rise in power and prestige and influence. And so, of course, would its Director. Graham began whistling _God Save the King._

ooOoo

Chuck and Casey were sitting in _Bump and Grind_. It was a nice place. Three other customers were sitting there. Two were hypnotized by their phones. The third was staring into his coffee as if hid secrets in its brown depths. Nova. Chuck did not flash on him, but Casey nodded when he saw Chuck look at him. Casey thought that was their man too.

"Ok, you two. We're on. We've tapped into the shop's internal security cameras. We have ears and eyes now. Have you spotted Nova?" Casey nodded once and said yes quietly. "Good. Meet is scheduled to take place any time now."

Chuck started to say something, but Casey shook his head and scratched his ear. June would hear. The door opened, the bell above it rang, and a man walked in. Chuck looked up, a reflex, and he flashed. Casey saw it. So did June.

"Ok. So, the Intersect just flashed or he just had the world's shortest wet dream," June's voice in their ears. Chuck flushed. Casey scowled. "Was it about me, Intersect? My heels, maybe?"

"That guy," Chuck whispered to Casey, ignoring June. "Definitely Fulcrum. Major Smythe. 'Major', his name, not his rank. He's a _killer_." Chuck's flash had nauseated him. Smythe killed his victims with brutal force, typically with blunt objects. The file photos were a splatter film.

Smythe sat down with Nova. Nova was obviously frightened, out of his depth. They exchanged words, but neither Chuck nor Casey could hear. Nova reached into his pocket and pulled out a thumb drive. Smythe reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick envelope, sat it on the table. As he started pushing it to Nova, Casey whispered, "Smythe is mine. Try to catch Nova." With that, Casey launched into action, covering the distance to Smythe in strong strides.

Smythe saw him coming, but managed only to just get to his feet before Casey flew into him. Nova took off toward the exit. Chuck gave chase. Nova went through the back door and into the alley. Chuck slammed into the closing door...and noticed the thumb drive on the ground. He scooped it up, barely breaking stride. Nova was at the end of the alley. Chuck would overtake him easily. Although Chuck was no athlete, his long legs had always made him a fast runner. He gobbled up space with each stride. But just as Chuck got to the end of the alley, a man on a bicycle came out of nowhere. Chuck ran into him and they crashed to the ground.

Chuck's landing was painful. One end of the handlebars speared his chest. A pedal scraped his leg. He heard the man start cursing, but Chuck forced himself up and onto his feet. It took a moment, unfortunately, to get man untangled from machine. By the time Chuck was up, Nova was gone. Chuck had somehow managed to hold onto the thumb drive through the _fracas_. He slipped it into his pocket.

"Good work, Casey. We've got Smythe. Intersect? Do we have Nova? Intersect? If Nova got away, _there will be hell to pay_ , Intersect."

"He got away," Chuck said it matter-of-factly.

"Tell me you got the thumb drive."

Chuck had no idea why he did it, maybe it was Thorne. Maybe it was because…

...Maybe it was just that he was sick of taking orders and being slapped around, figuratively and now literally.

"No, Nova got away with the thumb drive."

An act of rebellion. _Vive la résistance!_

ooOoo

Bryce was pleased with how the luncheon had gone. Pleased. Gretta Garland had noticed him, as he knew she would. And she had noticed Sarah too, as he knew she would. And Bryce had noticed Gretta. She was older, yes, but everything looked firm and properly placed. The way she moved created a familiar tightness in Bryce's lower abdomen.

The CIA should have all the background for the Anderson's up by now, so if Garland checked her guest list and dug a little (and she would, _he knew she would_ ), she would find that they were a wealthy, self-indulgent couple living off of Bryce Anderson's sizeable inheritance. She would also find a few suggestive details, suggestions of perhaps shady dealings on Bryce's part. The only thing to do now was wait. He hated the waiting part, but particularly now, when his plan had been to do such waiting while bedding Sarah.

He knew that would happen eventually too. But he really hated the waiting part.

ooOoo

June got back to the apartment, seething. Her first mission with the new team, and the damn package got away. They would eventually find Nova, she was sure; they would find the package, the information. _Bartowski_. She had had to face Graham and Beckman and explain. She made it clear: it was the Intersect's fault.

And he had just stood there, head down, and said nothing. He had not defended himself or explained. _He is completely pathetic_.

At least they captured Smythe. That was something. She would interrogate him later. _Oh, yes, yes_ , she would. There was that to look forward to. _Fun._

She threw a plastic shopping bag on the bed and sat down, taking off her high-heeled sandals. She stood up and pulled off the black dress, then took off her underwear. She bunched up the clothes and put them in a hamper in the bathroom. Back in the central room, June reached into a plastic bag and yanked free a can of Lysol. Uncapping it, she started spraying it systematically through the apartment, until an acrid, chemical cloud hung in the air. _Better._

She capped the can and put it on the nightstand. She reached into the bag again, retrieving a pack of Ticonderoga Pencils.

This was an old ritual with her. Since childhood. One by one, slowly, deliberately, she took the pencils from the pack and put them in a careful line on the bed. Then she picked one up and broke it into pieces until the pieces were too small for her to break them further. She kept repeating the process.

 _Bartowski._ Snap. _Bartowski._ Snap. _Bartowski._ Snap!

* * *

 **A/N2** Sheesh. Things happening and not-happening all over. End of Arc 1, the _Grace Abandoned_ arc.

Tune in for Chapter 6, "Big Sister's Clothes." Arc 2 begins, the _Look Homeward, Angel_ arc. Ellie and Devon are back in Burbank with a picture. Sarah and Bryce meet Gretta Garland. June enforces the new cover. Chuck does some hard thinking, and Morgan tries to help. It'll be a couple of days before it is ready.

If you are looking for a lighter break from this heavy story in the interim, I have finished my comic-booky, nearly angst-free Halloween tale, _Too Old For This._


	7. Chapter 6: Big Sister's Clothes

**A/N1** _Caution_ : Have you read Chapter 5, "Strict Time"? I posted it yesterday, but the site never treated the story as updated. (I posted too quickly to suit the site, I guess.) So, you may want to go back one chapter and make sure that you haven't missed anything. It's an important chapter. Oh, and if you do go back, leave a review of that chapter before you return to this one, please.

In this chapter, player repositioning. More context too, but things move ahead.

We are beginning the second arc, the _Look Homeward, Angel_ arc. This story has three arcs, the final two each a little longer than the first one.

Don't own _Chuck._

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

* * *

CHAPTER SIX

 _Big Sister's Clothes_

* * *

"Sheep to the slaughter, oh I thought this must be love…"

-Elvis Costello, _Big Sister's Clothes_

* * *

Opening the door, Chuck made sure neither Ellie nor Devon was home. They were due back this evening, but he thought it likely that they could not have made it from the airport back to the apartment yet. He needed time to decompress.

The thumb drive in his pocket felt like Gollum's damned ring, weighing him down, preying on his thoughts. _Too bad it can't make me invisible._ He had not looked at the information on it. He had not told anyone he had it. It was, at the moment, just a perverse trophy: a reminder that he could _salmon_ , could swim upstream. A reminder that he did not have to let the current sweep him and his life away. It had claimed so damn much. Stanford, Jill... _Sarah_. Even, in a way, Bryce. And the current these days was muddy and foul-full of June Thorne.

She had stepped-splashy into the life Sarah abandoned-or, rather, _the cover-life_. _Or was it a life?_ Anyway, June was working at the Wienerlicious. But as manager. She took over first thing in the morning. Scooter had been sent packing, terrified for his very life. Quickly after that, mere minutes it seemed, June had hired a phalanx of high school senior boys to work in the shop.

Chuck overheard some of them talking about the interview process: June had on the Wienerlicious outfit, and she had positioned herself on the counter, crossing and uncrossing her legs in slow-motion exaggeration. The small herd of boys who had stopped by almost daily to steal a glance at Sarah in her uniform shifted gazingstock to June. She had rounded up the herd and quickly thinned it to a manageable number, all good-looking and all at least eighteen. Her training process had also been immediate and very hands-on. By the time the first day was done, she had a group of new employees who would have sold their souls to have her look at them with her purple eyes or touch them. And, later, the store was spotless, gleaming, running almost on its own. She was some kind of demon enchantress.

June had then sashayed into the Buy More, still in her uniform, and had told Chuck loudly that she was sorry that Sarah had to leave town permanently, but that, since she was Sarah's old friend, and since they always _shared_ , she would be happy to keep him company. At least until he got back on his feet. She had said that like he would be _off_ his feet most of the time he was with her. She told him she would pick him up after work.

Casey had watched it all with a stone-face, giving nothing away. The Buy Morons were so overcome by fresh envy that they almost immediately forgot about Sarah or about Chuck's feelings (if they had ever thought of those at all), and simply started in on how he bagged the black-haired hottie. They were as flummoxed as when he had bagged the blonde-haired hottie. And now that Sarah was gone and Chuck left behind, they felt free to talk about her considerable charms.

Chuck had never wanted to punch Lester as much as he wanted to punch him that evening. He had been missing Sarah like a body part, but that show with June had made it even worse. He felt like parts of him had been amputated and June would soon start sawing on other parts. (Sarah had destroyed him from the inside; it looked like June would from the outside.) Chuck scowled at Lester and Lester backed up, shrank. Chuck had never scowled like that at Lester, with no hint of teasing or irony. Lester could feel the threat of a punch.

Morgan had been standing off to the side of the Nerd Herd desk, closer to Chuck than Casey, but by no means right beside Chuck. He had watched the exchange with June too. Chuck and Morgan had not talked. Not yet. As June left the store, Chuck turned. Morgan gave him a concerned look, then a look of puzzlement, and turned away.

And now Chuck was home. June had explained the cover to him as they roared down the road, and then almost pushed him out of the moving Jeep when they got to the apartment complex. Laughing, she left. "We'll have a serious talk tomorrow. For now, get some rest. You're going to need it. Tomorrow you learn about the facts of life: the hard facts of your miserable life." She put the topless Wrangler in gear and roared out of the lot.

And now Chuck was home. Ellie would be soon. He would just not mention the Sarah stuff tonight, the explanation, the new cover, June. The basic idea of his new cover was clear to him. _June for Sarah. Strange trade._ For now, he would just evade Ellie if she asked about Sarah. He had given her enough non-answers to questions about Sarah. More would not shock her at this point.

Unexpectedly, there was a knock at the door. Chuck checked to see who it was. Casey. He let him in.

ooOoo

The kid looked bad. Casey always thought of ladyfeelings as pastel and soft, warm and clinging, colored syrup fresh from a microwave. But he knew that was silly. Ladyfeelings could hurt like a son of a bitch. The kid had lost the woman he loved. He did not even know she loved him back. Casey had been brooding on that fact in his free moments. What was worse for the moron? Not knowing or knowing? There were arguments both ways, like in Casey's high school debate class. _Resolved: Letting the moron stew in unrequited abandonment is better than letting him stew in requited abandonment._ Casey had no idea whether it would be better to be the Affirmative or the Negative.

He had decided to keep that knowledge to himself, though, not because of Chuck so much as because of Thorne. If Chuck knew Sarah was in love with him, he might do something crazy, try to find her, go to her. It was the moron's style. _I kinda like that about the kid. For a nerd, he's balls-out._ But Thorne would destroy him when she found him, and she would find him. He would end up in a bunker if he was lucky. Bartowski had no idea where Walker was. Neither did Casey. She might be in Timbuktu. She might be in Fresno. Who knew?

He needed to keep the kid walking the straight and narrow until some way of turning the tables on Thorne showed itself. Casey had a call in to his CIA cleaner buddy. Maybe he would know something or know someone who did. Casey had always hated Graham, thought he was a miserable bastard, but sending Thorne to handle Bartowski was like sending a palsied Edward Scissorhands to dust an origami collection. It was cruel even for Graham. Soon, there would be bits and pieces of Bartowski all over the place.

"So, Thorne _established_ the cover. Did you see the legion of high school horn dogs she's _Fatal Attractioned_ into selling corn dogs?"

Chuck laughed at that, then gave Casey a surprised look. _Yes, moron, I can make a joke._

"No, but I overheard. She's...um... _efficient_."

"Yeah, guess so. Like fucking kudzu. Look. Watch yourself around her. She's gonna push you hard, kid. Some agenda, Graham's or hers or both, is in play now. You are the...well, the pawn. But...I'm here to protect you. And I will. Even if it has to be from her."

Bartowski gazed at Casey, now more surprised. "Uh, ok, Casey. Thanks. Really. Thanks." Bartowski looked like he was going to say something more when the door of the apartment opened. Elle and Devon trooped in, pulling suitcases and long faces. The room temperature plummeted immediately, even with the open door. Casey declared retreat.

"So, yes, that's Big Mike's idea. We can talk more...tomorrow."

"Okay, Casey," Chuck said, falling in line with the ploy. He gave Casey a meaningful look, although Casey did not know what it meant. "Tomorrow."

Casey left. Ellie stared daggers at him as he went past her. _What the hell is that all about?_

ooOoo

Sarah and Bryce had been marking time. They were hoping to an invitation to another New Orleans event, this one at the Garland home tomorrow, but so far, no invitation had arrived. Bryce was still confident that it would come.

Sarah had kept her distance from him. She read although she had a hard time concentrating. She watched tv for a while when she found an old movie to watch. But mostly she had sat and thought. Thought and, very tentatively, tried to feel. The heartbreak she felt when she finally really let her mind be occupied by Chuck had caused her to start thinking. She knew that Bryce had never occupied her mind like that. Never.

She had thought maybe she loved Bryce, at least she had thought that for a while. Not at the very beginning, not at the end, but for a time in-between. When she was first in Burbank, she thought she might have been right about that in-between time, the Cabo time. That she had loved him even if she did not at the end. But the longer she was in Burbank, the more doubtful she became.

She had not been sure why. The easy thing to tell herself was that she was enjoying the 20/20 vision of hindsight, finally sorting out Bryce's abandonment of her and his going rogue. But she was unsure that the easy thing to tell herself was the true thing. She was now sure that it was _not_ the true thing. She had come to know she did not love Bryce even during the in-between times. Her clarity about that was not caused by temporal distance from the Bryce of that time, but by the spatial closeness of someone else. The emotional closeness. Chuck. But what did that mean?

Maybe what it meant was that she saw that Chuck was lovable in a way that Bryce was not, never had been. That might explain it. She found Chuck...lovable. He showed her what _lovable_ really was. And that helped her to see that Bryce was not that, at least not for her. It did not have to mean anything more than that. _No, but it does, Sarah, it does. Say it to yourself. Three words._

 _No._ She made herself stand up and go to the window, look out. She made herself stop thinking, feeling. Her chest tightened. Her hands grew shaky. So, this was her new normal, physically compromised or emotionally wrecked, always one or the other.

Later, she had left the room to get coffee, but without conscious planning, she had walked to a nearby store. She bought two burner phones. She walked to a post office and put one of the burners in an overnight envelope. She addressed it to _Burbank Buy More_ , _Repair: Attn. C. Bartowski_. She programmed the number of each phone into the other. She paid the overnight fee. The woman at the counter put the envelope in an outgoing pile.

Almost certainly, Sarah would never use the phone. Almost certainly. But having bought them and mailed the one made her feel better, less adrift, anchored. She could breathe better. Her hands stopped shaking. Even the hurt in her chest was mollified.

She still had not let Bryce in on her accidental meeting with Ellie and Devon. She had decided she would not tell him. She could trust Chuck, Casey. _Even if they'll never trust me again. Even if they hate me._ They had her back. _My team._ Chuck would find a way to handle Ellie

She knew she needed to talk to Bryce. But she still did not trust herself to do it. Not without revealing things she did not want to reveal to him...to herself. Soon. They needed clearer boundaries. He needed to stop waiting for something that was not going to happen. She needed to figure out what she was doing. She felt the burner in her pocket.

ooOoo

June put off her confrontation with the Intersect. She did not trust herself. It was too early to go too far. She worked out her feelings on Smythe. He had not had much to tell her. He was a blunt instrument for Fulcrum, not trusted to do more than deal pain and death. But she had made sure he had no useful information. _Damn sure_. She had the cover squared away, more or less. Ellie and Devon would be the hard part, but she would not enter their orbit yet. Better to give that some time. Things were coming together. Tomorrow, she would start on the Intersect, start squeezing him like a grape. Until he popped.

ooOoo

Casey had been shocked by the condition of Smythe when he stopped at the safe house that morning. The backup team was holding Smythe there, and from there they were coordinating the ongoing search for Nova. But Casey had said not reacted outwardly, not showing his shock, not even when the backup team made it clear that they were... _disturbed_ by the vicious treatment Smythe had been dealt. The problem was that Casey could not honestly say he would not have done the same. This battle with Fulcrum was getting harsher, and keeping the kid safe was getting harder all the time. Still, he had made sure the team had done what they could to make Smythe more comfortable.

Casey frowned to himself. Thorne knew the game. She had hurt the man badly, but there were few obvious physical traces. Obviously, the body was familiar to her, it's weaknesses and vulnerabilities, the places where pain could be maximized while damage was minimal. But the backup team had made it clear that Thorne had enjoyed herself. Casey would not say that of himself. He might have done it, but he and Johnny Walker would have had to have a long, long confab afterward.

The shock of it had been enough to send Casey to June's apartment. He picked the lock. Inside, the place was spotless. _Disinfected._ Everything looked normal. Except for the pile of pencil pieces in the trash, pencils that had never been sharpened. Casey did not know what to make of that, but his gut told him it was bad. He needed to talk to Beckman. It was time to find out where her head was at, and what she suspected Graham was up to. Casey felt like he was standing in a vortex, wind whistling around him on all sides, but without any means of determining what direction the storm was coming from.

ooOoo

Ellie let Chuck grab her suitcase handle. She watched as he and Devon pulled the suitcases to the bedroom. She sat down, dropped on a chair, really, and took out her phone. For Devon's sake, she had tried to enjoy the rest of their time in New Orleans, but it had been hopeless. And Devon had grown somber too. Her mind had been racing since the coffee shop. She had been going over and over the last few months. The changes in Chuck.

Sarah's sudden appearance. Casey's equally sudden appearance. Neither of them had been forecast by any change in Chuck, and neither of them fit Chuck's life as she had known it. She did not think Sarah was out of Chuck's league (she tended to think the reverse: Sarah was too cold and conflicted for someone as warm and integral as her brother), but she had been willing to go along with it because of the changes that then occurred in Chuck. He was _awake_ , all at once, no longer somnambulant as he had been for the last five years. He seemed to be making acquaintance again with his vast potential.

It all seemed backward to Ellie, though. He should have awakened first, and then found someone like Sarah. Befriended someone like Casey. But those things had happened first, the awakening second. It was not an impossible ordering, it just felt unlikely.

And for all the changes in Chuck that Ellie liked, there were changes she absolutely did not like. His newfound reticence, vagueness, vacillation. The lingering deep-but-unacknowledged sadness in him despite the positive changes. She had attributed it all to the rigors of dating Sarah Walker. Walker seemed unknowable, wholly self-contained. Closed off. She was obviously very aware of what went on around her, except for her seeming blindness to the misery she was causing Chuck. A cloud of doom seemed to hover over the two of them. Sarah often treated Chuck as if she had rented him from a nerd escort service, things between them seemed _business_ , not personal. Although there were moments, mostly when Casey was absent and Chuck otherwise occupied, when Sarah gazed at Chuck as a woman in love gazes at the man she loves. When the longing in Sarah's eyes made Ellie's chest hurt. But the gaze would vanish, business would return, and sometimes the gaze would be gone for a long time.

On the plane, Ellie had finally given in and taken out her phone. Turning it on secretly, she pulled up the photo the LSU fan had taken for her. She had studied the photo slowly, carefully. Sarah was holding Bryce's hand. Their faces were intent, the expressions hard to read, but they were leaning in toward each other. That's when Ellie saw it. They both had on wedding rings. Sarah was married. Bryce was married. Were they married to each other, other people? Did Chuck know any of this? _What was going on?_ Her brother could be clueless but he was no fool. _What the hell was going on?_

It was time to find out.

Chuck came back into the living room. Ellie stayed seated, but she motioned for Chuck to sit.

"So, sis, how was the Big Easy?" Chuck grinned even though he looked tired.

"Easier than I imagined…" Ellie responded. Her tone was grave, not joking. She saw Chuck's grin begin to melt.

"Really? I mean did something happen?"

Ellie had her phone in her hand. She waved it at Chuck. "Let me send you something. You have your phone?"

"Ah, yeah, sure." Chuck pulled it from his pocket. Ellie punched at the screen of hers then looked up at Chuck. She knew the look was expectant. And dark.

Chuck made a face in response. His phone beeped. He looked down and then Ellie saw the change on his face. But it was pain, not shock. She had raised him; she knew all his looks. He could not seem to lift his eyes from the phone. Ellie just sat there. Often, when she was raising him, she had waited him out. She waited now.

He finally glanced up quickly, evidently trying to get a glimpse of her face, some sense of her reaction to the photo, her intention in showing it to him. Ellie worked to show nothing to him. She wanted him to have to decide how this conversation would be framed.

"You...took this?" It was a question but not really a serious one. He was buying time.

Ellie shrugged. "No, a man took it for me. But I was there. Devon was there. We saw them." Devon had been standing by the couch. He went and sat on the arm of Ellie's chair.

"We did, Chuckster. It was not awesome."

Chuck looked down at the photo again. He saw the rings. He saw their ringed hands together. He could make nothing of Sarah's expression, other than that she was intent on Bryce. The same seemed to be true of Bryce's expression in the other direction.

"Shit. Ellie." Chuck put the phone on the end table and rubbed his eyes.

"Bryce Larkin is evidently not only alive, and evidently not only alive, but married, and evidently not only married, but married to and holding the hand of Sarah... _Walker?_ "

Chuck was sitting forward, his forearms resting on his thighs, his hands hanging limply over his knees. For a long time, he said nothing. Ellie felt Devon's hand gently rub her back. Finally, Chuck spoke, but without looking up.

"Evidently."

"You really don't seem shocked, Chuck. Not by any of that. Are you going to tell me what is going on?"

ooOoo

Chuck had dreamed of confessing to his sister. He wanted to tell her about it all so bad. The Intersect, the fear, the danger, Sarah, Casey. But he had wanted to tell her on his own terms if he could, and he did not want to be falling apart while he tried to tell her.

"Ellie, I promise. I will tell you. But I need you to give me some time. Trust me a little while longer and I will...explain it all to you."

Ellie's expression pinched. Her eyes were wary. Devon was rubbing her back.

"Ok. But you have to tell me one thing. Do you have real feelings for the woman in that photograph, whatever her damn name is, or was it all an act?"

"No, not an act, Ellie, I swear. I had...I have real feelings for her. _I like her, Ellie. I like her a lot."_

Ellie's eyes flashed. "Chuck, I can't trust you to tell me the truth if you can't tell it to yourself. You don't _like her_ , Chuck. You love her. You have since you came back the morning after your first date, covered in sand, even if you were too far gone to know how far gone you were. The one thing in all of this I am sure of is that you love…" Ellie held up the phone and pointed to the woman in the photo with Bryce Larkins, "...this woman. Beyond that, I don't have a clue. I thought she loved you, I was sure...until New Orleans."

After wincing at Ellie's final remark Chuck got up and trudged defeatedly to his room. He could not face Ellie any longer. _I love her. Sarah. Oh, God, of course, I do. Why didn't I tell her? It wouldn't have changed anything...but she'd have known, at least. She might at least have thought it was...sweet._

And then the realization finally hit home. Ellie thinks Sarah _loves_ me. Maybe it was time to believe Ellie. Maybe it was time to figure out what he really believed, and stop wallowing. He had taken the thumb drive; he was not going to be under anyone's thumb.

ooOoo

Ellie's look as Casey left the apartment had Casey worried. He walked quickly to his apartment and turned on the listening device in the Bartowski living room. He sat in his chair. He had no trouble guessing what...who...was in the photo. He heard the kid promise to tell Ellie the truth. He heard Ellie tell Chuck that he loved Sarah. _Huh. Ellie and I have been on the same page there. And she's right about Sarah too. Damn smart cookie._ Casey turned the device down. Things had gone from bad to way worse.

June Thorne was the new handler. Walker was with Bryce in New Orleans, wearing a wedding ring and holding hands. The kid was going to spill to his sister. This was _Code: Critical._ The shit had hit the vortex, and the vortex was fixing to fling it all over.

ooOoo

Morgan, oddly enough, came through the Morgan door. Not Casey this time. Chuck glanced up at him.

"So, Sarah's gone?" No rambling preamble from Morgan. Direct.

Chuck nodded once.

"Sorry, dude. I know how you looked at her."

Chuck looked at him quizzically. "How was that?"

"The way Sam looked at Diane. The way David looked at Maddie. The way Tramp looked at Lady." Chuck blinked a couple of times at the final twosome.

"What would you do if the woman you...loved left you, Morgan?"

Morgan did not react to 'love' as Chuck feared. Morgan knew already. _Sam, David, Tramp. Right_. Morgan's answer was serious, immediate. "Get her back."

"But what if she doesn't love you?"

Morgan's eyes narrowed for a second. "We are talking about Sarah Walker, aren't we? Not the Boba Fett that's now blasting weenies next to the Buy More?"

"Yeah, Morgan, Sarah. I mean…" he thought about the kiss, the photo...everything, "I don't know what I mean...Ellie thinks Sarah loves me. But what if she doesn't love me?"

"Dude, but what if she does?"

ooOoo

A knock on the hotel room door. Bryce came in from the bedroom. Sarah scanned the front room, making sure that everything looked appropriate. Everything that needed to be hidden was. Bryce looked out the peephole. He turned. "Garland." His voice was the barest whisper. Sarah nodded, ran her hands through her hair. This was unexpected.

Bryce opened the door. Garland's eyes traveled the length of him like hands before she spoke.

"Hi, I'm Gretta Garland. I have an invitation for you...both."

* * *

 **A/N2** Tune in next time for Chapter 7, "House of the Rising Sun". A party at the Garlands. June starts squeezing. Chuck and Casey have a heart to heart to heart with Ellie. Chuck gets mail. And some other stuff. See you then! Leave me a review; it keeps the story moving!


	8. Chapter 7: House of the Rising Sun

**A/N1** Another twist of canon coming. I never took Bryce's mission when he left after Nemesis to make much sense. I have retooled things a bit here. Some of you have asked, now the answer.

A long chapter and a big one.

So much fun chatting with reviewers and PMers. I try to respond to everyone but I'm writing this while writing other things and teaching classes and working on new guitar tunes, so it may take me a little time. But please stay in touch. You have no idea how much more rewarding it makes the writing, to get a review and not just a view (though views are nice).

 _Don't own Chuck_.

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

* * *

CHAPTER SEVEN

 _House of the Rising Sun_

* * *

"Look into yourself; discover yourself; keep close to yourself; call back your mind and will..[Y]ou run out, you spill yourself; carry a more steady hand…"

-Montaigne, _Of Vanity_

* * *

Rising from the couch early, with the sun, Sarah tiptoed through the bedroom and into the bathroom. She had the burner phone tucked into the waistband of her pajamas bottoms, beneath the top. Bryce had rolled over as she passed, but had not stirred into wakefulness.

She shut the door and carefully clicked on the light. She had a phone already, of course, and Chuck knew the number. He had a phone, of course; she knew the number.

But she did not want to contact him on those phones. The burners were symbolic, at least to her. A fresh start, new. Starting over. She no longer his handler. He no longer her asset. Not that their new situation was uncomplicated.

She had no idea if Chuck would respond, but she had been awake much of the night trying to decide what to say to him, _text_ to him. She could not talk to him, not yet. She had her reasons. Her throat almost closed as she thought about him. That was one reason of her reasons.

She put the toilet seat and lid down, shooting a hard look through the bathroom door toward Bryce as she did so, then she sat down. She took the burner out and looked at it. Its screen glowed at her as if waiting for her to make up her mind, take action. She had decided she did not want to send Chuck just a phone with a number. She needed to tell him something, say something. She had tossed and turned on the couch, trying to decide what to say. She had composed long, careful texts in her head: it had been a little like college again, struggling to write an essay. Except this was an essay at something big, important, life-changing.

 _Life-changing_. She had thought about a different life. She had thought it was a mere fantasy until Chuck gave it color and weight. A different life. A normal life. Maybe that was not impossible for her. For a woman like her. She had changed; she was still taking inventory of the change.

She surveyed all the things she wanted to say, the elegant apologies she had written in her head. He must hate her as eloquently as her head-composed texts were elegant. Sighing, she sent Chuck a text.

 **So sorry. -S.**

He almost certainly would not respond. Maybe that would be for the best. _No._ But at least he'd know she was sorry. So sorry. She was.

ooOoo

The Garland mansion was perhaps what the Addams' family home would have been, had it been kept up, the roses allowed to bud. _I can't believe Chuck made me watch that silly show. And then all the jokes about Thing and handlers._ Sarah smiled to herself involuntarily. The line of thought continued. _Gretta Garland may not look like Morticia, but she deserves the name._

Sarah and Bryce had gotten out of a cab down the street and joined the line of folks, invitations in hand, who were here for the party. This was not a charitable event, but a social one, and Garland had made that clear when she visited them in the hotel, putting her hand on Bryce's arm a couple of times to underscore it. "No one will be asking for money this time. But we appreciated your very generous donation last time."

The CIA's donation, of course. Bryce had been good with Garland. But then again, he was always good with women in that way. It was a natural gift, further honed by the Company, like his smile. He was careful to lean into her touch just slightly, always to make sure that her touch merited eye contact and received it. She, in turn, pushed her hair back behind her ears or she rubbed her other hand along her lengthy, bare legs.

And then it hit Sarah. _Bryce isn't really pretending_. He was, perhaps, pretending to pretend. But she realized that his act, such as it was, found its audience in her, not in Garland. Garland was getting the genuine article, real reactions. Bryce was interested. No, more, Bryce had every intention of sleeping with Garland if the mission would allow it. (Not necessitate it: covers and seduction missions almost never necessitated any such thing; there were nearly always alternatives. But Bryce was hoping the mission would _allow_ it.)

Sarah wondered if he knew that about himself. His earlier "Close but no cigar" speech had seemed sincere enough, been sincere at the moment, but he now looked to her like he was prepared to give Gretta full access to the humidor.

But maybe Sarah was wrong about his audience: maybe it included himself as well as her. The spy life created these sorts of bizarre aberrations of self-knowledge. Knots. Tangles. Whirligigs. Constantly pretending, constantly lying; it ate away at the spy's underlying reality, corroded any genuine self. Like her, Bryce had been pretending and lying for a long time. At a certain point, how could either of them avoid pretending and lying to herself or to himself? _When I said that I was lying I might have been lying…_

And when the lies are not just shared abroad, but shared at home, how can a person still trust herself? How can she know she is not lying?

Truth was stability. Chuck, his wholeness, his openness-all stabilized by the truth. Yes, he could lie, did lie, but it was alien to him. He was never at home with it. The lie had not moved into the very heart of him, as it had her, as it had Bryce. His well was not poisoned.

 _Chuck._ Would he believe her text? It was the truth, as far as she could tell. Her reflections and her emotional and bodily reactions all seemed to her to confirm it. Leaving him had turned out to be leaving parts of herself. She had never been whole in the way Chuck was whole, but she had never been this partial, this paralyzed. She was so, so sorry. She should never have run. But her life had made running instinctual, easy; she had been trained to run: by her father, by Graham, by the con life and the spy life.

 _Life._ A normal life did not look boring to her, as it apparently did to Carina and as Carina thought it must to Sarah. Far from it, a normal life looked like a House of Mirrors to Sarah, but a frightening, not a fun one, a House full of _non-distorting_ mirrors that would accurately reveal her to herself at long last, no excuses, no rationalizations, no nothing. Nothing but Sarah. Chuck would see her. And so would Sam. She did not know which terrorized her more.

By the time Garland left their hotel room, one last lingering touch on Bryce's arm later, Sarah was ready to attack the woman. Sarah had no romantic interest in Bryce, but Garland believed Sarah was his wife, and yet she had behaved that way. Because Garland believed it, Garland had behaved that way; she did it on purpose. She wanted Sarah to become anxious, to be anxious. Part of Bryce's appeal was not just Bryce himself or that Garland hoped he would delight her in bed, but that his making delighting Garland would eventually make Bryce's wife miserable. Misery: the cherry on Garland's adulterous sundae. If Bryce slept with Garland, Garland would be fantasizing a miserable Sarah, picturing Sarah finding out about it. The misery of others as an aphrodisiac. Sarah shuddered as Bryce showed Garland out.

She and Bryce got to the door of the Garland house, heavy and wooden. Above it was a half-moon of stained glass, an image of wolf's head, seemingly staring at the guests as they arrived. It was so unexpected that Sarah gasped. Bryce looked at her then followed her eyes up to it. "No accounting for taste," he commented. At that moment, Garland appeared in the door, taking Bryce by the arm and smiling a winner's smile at Sarah. Sarah did what she needed to do for the cover: she looked like a woman trying to be gracious while hurting. And there was some truth to it, of course, she was hurting, but she was not hurting over Bryce. _Method actress._

"Bryce, my don't you look good enough to eat? Sarah, I imagine with him looking like this, you must have had to force yourself to come." Garland's smile grew as she enjoyed the deliberate ambiguities in what she had just said. Gretta repositioned her body so that her chest was pressed against the arm she was pulling to herself. She gave Bryce the briefest of glances, making sure he knew it was not an accident. Bryce chuckled and smiled in return, his eyes dipping into the deep neckline of her dress.

"Would you mind if I borrowed Bryce, Sarah? I want to introduce him to some people. He'll be in and out and back to you soon." Sarah forced herself not to respond to the continued ambiguity and nodded mutely as if she were reluctant to stop anything her husband did. The time to push back had not yet come; it would have to come eventually because Gretta would expect and want it. She would want a win, not a forfeit. Sarah could see that Bryce wanted her to let him make the rounds without any kind of confrontation. He might meet someone who would matter, someone else tied to Fulcrum.

Bryce was sure that the only Fulcrum agents who knew who he was, or had suspected him of being the Intersect were either dead or in prison. Sarah had believed him; so had Graham and Beckman, or he would never have been sent back under against Fulcrum. They were committed now. If Bryce were wrong, he would end up getting one or both of them killed. She hoped he was not wrong, but there was a stuntman side to Bryce's spying that had always annoyed Sarah, sometimes even enraged her. A desire to do the thing (whatever it was) in the most spectacular, Albert R. Broccoli-Harry Saltzmann way, the _James Bond Way_. He did almost everything spy-related as if he were on camera.

Sarah had been mortified when she finally understood he considered sex with her a spy-related thing. She knew he never filmed them together ( _I'd have killed him_ ), but there were bedroom moments, especially near the end, when she could see him imagining the camera, when she half-expected him to frame her face in a viewfinder made by extending his index fingers upward while touching his thumbs together. Understanding it had _not_ added to her pleasure; it had made her self-conscious at a moment when she was chasing the loss of self.

She let Bryce and Garland meander away, then went in search of the buffet. Walking through the gaudy, expensive home forced her to hide a sneer. The furniture choices resembled Bryce's spy choices; they were made to be seen by others, not chosen prudently or tastefully, with an eye to function or lasting beauty. It was furniture meant to put others in their place, not to be a comfortable place for others.

A number of men came up and introduced themselves to Sarah. Sarah interacted politely with each but was always careful to be looking around, as she explained, for her husband. Her appetite had come back somewhat, and so she got a couple of items from the buffet when she found it and slipped into a corner to eat. She wondered if Chuck had gotten the burner. If he had gotten her message. She had hidden her burner in the hotel room. She would not know until she got back. She ate another of the rubbery shrimp (not too bad if they were drenched in cocktail sauce) and waited for Bryce to finish setting the hook.

ooOoo

Chuck was up early. The thumb drive had been on his mind, Sarah too, Sarah most of all, but he was not sure what to do about her yet. He had June and Ellie and Casey to contend with today. He would try to figure out a strategy with Sarah. He could not wait long. There was no guarantee she would be in New Orleans for any length of time. Chuck was tempted to talk to Casey. Maybe he would. If he was going to confess it all to Ellie, he almost had to tell Casey first. And Casey probably knew anyway. _Bugs._ But of course, Casey might hustle him straight into a bunker. But Chuck had been struck by Casey's attitude since Sarah left. He had told Chuck he would protect him, even against June. Chuck felt like he had no choice but to take his chances with Casey, with them all with the whole situation.

Chuck went to his computer and unplugged everything but the power cord. He did everything he needed to do to make sure it was air-gapped, not hooked to the external world in any way. He had long ago found the CIA crap on it and figured out how to bypass it, so it did it again as he had many times.

Once he was ready, he plugged the thumb drive in. The amount of data on it overwhelmed Chuck. It contained information on not just dozens, but maybe hundreds of agents. Without really thinking about the consequences, on almost a whim, he searched 'Sarah Walker'.

A file came up, a big one. Chuck stared at the screen, now unnerved by his whim. There it was, the file on Sarah. He had flashed on a few things in connection with her, early on. But for the most part, she seemed not to be in the Intersect. Chuck was not sure why, but even though he saw her all the time, she never provoked any flash beyond the initial ones. Because he had always wanted her to tell him about herself by choice, he had never tried to find out more, to push the Intersect. He had waited, hoping. But now she was gone. He could know, know about her. _One quick button depression._ He could know about her: all that he did not know, and that was almost everything. He felt afraid, unsure. A little like Adam staring at the offered apple. " _Eat, and know."_

He shut it all down and pulled the thumb drive out, putting it in his pants pocket again. It was more than a perverse token: it was now a temptation.

ooOoo

A morning shift at the Buy More gave Chuck a reason to leave the apartment before Ellie and Devon woke up. He was supposed to clock in early to see about repairs. He was almost glad. He needed to make himself stop thinking for a while. He needed interior silence.

He'd been working steadily for several hours and it was almost time for lunch.

"Bartowski!"

At first, he thought it was June. But it turned out to be Anna Wu. She had a stack of electronics in her arms, and an envelope. "Repairs." She smirked through her heavy makeup. "Have fun." She twirled and left, leaving the stack on the table. Chuck grabbed the envelope. It was addressed to him, a repair. That was unusual, unique even. He tore the envelope open. Inside was a phone. Nothing else. He dumped it into his hand, then turned it on, expecting it not to work. But it did. After a moment, it was glowing. He looked at the screen. There was a text message. Feeling guilty for the second time in the day, he clicked on it.

 **So Sorry. -S.**

Chuck did a double-take. That was what it said. He checked the phone. It had one contact number entered into it, a number he did not recognize. He grabbed the envelope and looked at the handwriting this time, not what was written. He recognized it from reports in Casey's apartment. S. _Sarah_.

"Bartowski!"

His name again, but again, thank God, still not June. Casey. "C'mon, numbnuts, we have to talk. June wants you across town in an hour. We will talk on the way."

ooOoo

Casey glanced at Bartowski out of the side of his eye. His face was flushed. He knew what was coming. Of course, he knew about the bugs, and he had to expect Casey to have been listening live or to have heard a recording of it.

Before Casey could come up with an opening gambit, Chuck plunged in. "Are you going to have to put me in a bunker, Casey, is that where we are really going? 'Cause if it is, I'd really like to stop and grab a carton of cigarettes."

Casey kept one eye on the road but turned slowly to Bartowski. "You don't smoke, moron."

Chuck shook his head ruefully. "No, but if I'm going to spend that much time alone, I might as well take up something that will shorten my time."

It took Casey a minute to process that. Bartowski grinned grimly.

"Huh, dark humor. Not exactly your meter, kid."

"Well, maybe it can become another of my new hobbies. You know, dark humor for smoking Chuck in the dark CIA hole, the Intersected Marlboro Man."

Casey tried to make his tone less gravelly. "I'm not going to take you to a bunker. We really are heading to Thorne. Although a bunker and cartons of non-filtered Kools might be a better way to go." Casey paused. "What are you going to tell Ellie and Devon."

"Everything."

Casey had known that would be the answer. The kid was not a half-measures sorta kid.

"Ok," Casey drawled out, cautiously. "But before we talk about that, I need you to tell me something. Why did Walker leave? And don't tell me she left for Bryce. Hell, if that's true, I'll hunt them down and kill them both myself. I don't buy it. Something else happened. And it happened around the time Bryce impersonated Lazarus."

Chuck whipped his head around. "What, numbnuts, I can't have gone to church? Choirboy here. If we drink together again, if that ever happens, ask to hear _Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing_. I'll make you weep. But don't change the topic. What happened between you two?"

Bartowski regarded Casey curiously, clearly a bit unsettled by the accuracy of Casey's suspicion. The kid finally spat it out. He told Casey the story of the kiss and of his reaction to it, his euphoria, and Sarah's utter panic.

"So you knew she didn't choose Bryce? She chose not to have to stay and sort things with you?" Casey was drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel.

"No, not until last night, really. But, well, you must have heard. Ellie made me _think_. What Bryce did to me left fingerprints all over my imagination. Years of thinking he was the superhero and I was the sidekick, if I was even the sidekick. The Boy Dunder." Casey grunted in amusement.

"At first, knowing that he and Sarah had been together, and knowing he still wanted her, I just assumed she still wanted him. But Ellie made me think. Maybe that isn't true."

Casey chewed the inside of his lower lip. He was hip-deep in ladyfeelings now. It felt like quicksand, sucking him in. _Shit. In a minute, I'll be ready to buy magazines with stinky pages._ He still was not sure how much he should tell Chuck. He was not lying: he was not going to put the kid in a bunker. But the kid knew Walker was in New Orleans. He was a flight risk, and a _flight promise_ if Casey told him what he knew about Walker's feelings. The kid was working it out, and Casey needed time. He still had not talked to Beckman or his CIA cleaner buddy, but he expected to do both after he dropped Bartowski off.

"Look, I'm going to come with you to talk to Ellie. It'd be better if I explain, at least at first. You will be there; you can add anything you believe necessary. But you know, don't you, that this puts them in danger, real danger?"

Chuck sucked his lips in, nodding. "I know. More danger; they are already in danger. And we can tell Ellie that before we tell her anything. Give her a chance to opt-out before we read her in. But I'm pretty sure she knows there will be consequences to hearing what she wants to hear. She's sweet. She's sure not dumb."

"No, kid, she's sure not dumb. Let's just hope we are being smart. Let's hope she, and Captain Awesome, can keep a secret."

At the mention of Devon, each looked away from the other.

A few minutes later, Casey turned the Crown Vic into an almost empty parking lot. The lot belonged to a strip of stores that no longer seemed to belong to anyone in particular. Small, fly-by-night shops were in the stores. A candle shop. A screen printing t-shirt place. Casey stopped in front of an apparently empty storefront. The glass was covered over on the inside with newspapers. The inside was invisible.

As they got out of the car, one of the doors opened and June Thorne was standing there, still wearing her Wienerlicious uniform.

"Glad she's keeping a low profile," Casey griped under his breath. Casey walked with Bartowski to the door.

But when they got there, June put her hand on Casey's chest. "Just the Intersect today, Casey. He and I have things to talk about, things to work out. I need to get a first-hand sense of how that thing in his head works, other than seeing the face he makes when it does. I promise I'll keep the government's favorite science experiment in one piece."

Casey stood still for a minute, her hand pressing against him. Then he stepped back. He just did not know enough about what was going on to know how to play his hand. He needed information; he was flying blind. At least Thorne would be busy with Bartowski for a few hours. It would give him time to talk to his buddy and to Beckman.

"Ok. I will come back for him at 4 pm. Alright by you?"

Thorne nodded. "Perfect."

Casey looked at June and risked a comment. "He may be government _property_ , but he is _government_ property. The government won't take kindly to anyone harming their property."

Thorne just smiled and grabbed the kid by the hand, dragging him inside.

ooOoo

Looking around, Chuck saw very little in the store. A long, fold-out table with a printer and a couple of computers, a plastic chair in front of each. A neat stack of files on the near end. There was an old, threadbare couch against one wall and a tv on a stand near it. Other than that there was nothing but fluorescent lights above and linoleum beneath empty space until reaching the back wall.

Thorne seemed strangely pleased with it. "I needed a place to work other than that apartment Graham gave me, Walker's damn place. He arranged this on short notice. Not bad. We can work here on our days off. Everything we need is here, except for food, but there are lots of places nearby.

"So here's the plan, Intersect. Graham believes we've coddled you, used your power passively. We need to take the fight to Fulcrum, not wait for Fulcrum to reveal themselves. That's also the reason I sent you into _Bump and Grind_ with Casey. I needed to see what you could do physically. The files say you've contributed to missions, but it sounds like mostly you've been like a winged cherub hovering above the fray, making funny faces. Given your performance yesterday, that may be all you are good for, but I am going to make you good for a lot more of that. _Oh, yes, I am_. Have a seat." She kicked toward the chairs in order to point.

Chuck walked to one of the plastic chairs and bent himself into it. He put his messenger bag on the floor. The burner was in it, in a pocket. And the thumb drive was still in his pants pocket. He was worried about both. Having them both near June.

June offered, without further comment, "You're tall."

She then grabbed one of the files and handed it to Chuck. It was full. She handed him a small digital tape recorder that had been obscured from view by the files.

"Go through and look at each photo. If you flash, report that contents of the flash into the recorder."

"But there must be a hundred photos in here. Who knows how many times I will flash?"

June reached over and smacked his cheek lightly, teasingly, except that the real slaps from before ruined the effect. "And that's just what we want to find out."

"But, um, look. I guess my face in the shop made you think a flash was pleasurable, but it isn't. One in isolation is not so bad. But they get worse as they go. I get headaches and my vision eventually gets blurry. It takes hours to return to normal…"

"Don't worry, Intersect, the government thought of everything." She reached into file Chuck was holding and pulled out a thin package of aspirin, the sort you buy at a gas station, _two tablets per._ It was Excedrin Extra Strength. "Got you covered." She snorted a laugh. "Get cracking."

The next two and a half hours were misery. Somehow, Thorne had found a file that was rich with flash-producing faces or information. Thirty minutes in, Chuck's head felt like a melon on a Ginsu infomercial; an hour in, his brain had become off-color elbow noodles; two hours in, his eyes threatened to cross permanently and he was forgetting his own name. He did it, though, kept at it and recorded all that came to him in each flash.

Thorne reclined on the couch, watching a show with the volume so low that Chuck could not identify it. Finally, he was done. He put the final page back in the file and closed it. He carefully leaned into his own hands, his elbows props against the table, and allowed himself to rock back and forth from the waist. The repetitive movement was soothing.

And then he felt a hand in his hair. June tilted his head back and suddenly her mouth was on his. For a split second, he thought she was trying to bite out his tongue, then he realized she was kissing him. There was a strong taste of cloves. _A near rhyme for her hooves._ He pushed himself back from the table hard, and the plastic chair tipped over, taking him with it, tearing him from her lips and her hands.

He hit the floor violently, so hard it almost knocked the wind out of him. He gasped. June stood over him, her purple eyes flashing in amusement. "I told you there'd be treats."

Chuck rolled over to the opposite side of the chair from the one she was standing on. He got up on his hands and knees. He was staring down at the linoleum.

"Never, ever, do something like that to me again. I will do what you say until it involves my... _person_. Then, no, the answer is just _no_." He turned his head to take her in. She had walked away. She was holding the door open.

"Casey's here for you, Intersect. Good work. I believe we can get more out of you, though. Be ready for next time."

Chuck forced himself to stand, and took a deep breath as the top of his head threatened to detach from his body. He turned to the table and grabbed the packet of aspirin. He walked outside. Casey was in the Crown Vic. The engine was running. Chuck got in and Casey handed him a cold bottle of water. Chuck took the aspirin the gulped down the water.

"Ok, kid?"

Chuck nodded gingerly and did not speak.

ooOoo

After a stop at his place to shut down all the surveillance equipment, Casey led Bartowski to Ellie. Ellie had opened the door to let them in. The drive had done the kid some good. He had some of his color back. He told Casey what had happened. Only the kiss surprised Casey; the rest was predictable. They were functionally bunkering Chuck part-time, above ground, in that empty store. Thorne was his handler and also his jailor.

Ellie had coffee made and she poured everyone a cup. Devon had been kept at the hospital by an emergency operation. He was unlikely to be home any time soon.

If she was unhappy that Casey was going to be part of the conversation, Ellie hid it well. She handed Casey a mug and smiled at him. The look was very different than the one she had given him when she had just returned from New Orleans. Ellie gave the kid a mug. He took it and inhaled the aroma deeply. He took a sip and settled back in his chair.

Ellie had wrapped her hands around her mug and watched her brother. She seemed content to wait for someone else to start the conversation. Casey did.

"Ellie, I am Major John Casey, NSA. I am a one-time soldier and a current spy. I work for General Diane Beckman, who runs the NSA. Sarah Walker works for the CIA, for Director Langston Graham. Together, we are...were part of a joint intelligence operation here in Burbank, a team. And a damn good one. What I am about to do is called 'reading you in'. Once I do, I can't take it back, and I will warn you, once I do, you will be in considerable danger."

Ellie nodded slowly. "Fine. I agree to be read in." She paused, thought for a moment. "About the other things you just said: ok, no surprise with you, John. I've seen toy soldiers who better conceal their military origins than you. So, that's not news" Ellie stopped and took another sip of coffee. "And I guess the information about Sarah is surprising, but no shock. There had to be some explanation for...how she is..." Ellie was choosing her words deliberately, slowly. She glanced at her brother.

"I have questions about each of you, but I will let them wait. You haven't told me about the entire _team_ , I take it."

"No, your brother is crucial to the team, Ellie. He's why there is a team. He's why we've been so damn good."

"But Chuck is no spy, John.. Chuck's...Chuck. Brilliant. Loveable." She frowned. "A one-time maximizer turned satisficer." She gave Chuck an apologetic look. "But he's never fired a gun in his life. He's been punched in anger a couple of times by bullies, but he has never punched anyone in anger. How can Chuck be on a team with NSA and CIA secret _agents_? He's intimidated by our _insurance_ agent!"

"Sis!" Bartowski burst out in protest. Ellie grinned but without much humor. "Seriously, one of you explain to me how Chuck's a spy."

The kid was rubbing his temples. Casey jumped in. "I take it you know Bryce Larkin is alive."

"I do." Ellie's features wrinkled in disgust.

"Bryce Larkin is _also_ a CIA agent. He was for a time the... _partner_...of Sarah Walker…"

Ellie closed her eyes and spat out a word. "Goddamn."

Casey pushed forward. "Um, yes. Long-story-short for now, Larkin saved a crucial piece of government software from a group of rogue agents. He was...shot while doing it because he was taken to be one of the rogue agents. But before he...apparently died...he forwarded the software via email to a person he thought could be trusted to have it…."

Casey literally watched Ellie connect the dots. Unselfconsciously, she was using her finger to draw in the air, and she had indicated one point, then another, then traced a route between them.

She shot Casey a glance. "He sent it to Chuck." She looked at her brother. The kid did not admit it but he did not deny it, and, anyway, Ellie knew, she was running with it now. "But Chuck did not just _get it_ in the sense of having it on his computer. He had it. _He_ does _."_

The kid was gaping at his sister and Casey knew his own mouth was hanging open.

"El, how did you know?"

"Because it is the only thing that makes sense, the only thing that gets you _on the team._ They would have just taken it from you if they could. They had to have you…Some kind of _download_ …?"

"Right," Casey conceded, "We had to have him. And Walker became his...handler protecting him in daylight or in social situations..."

"And you were the gargoyle perched over us in the night." Ellie continued in Casey's tone.

"Hey," Casey objected, a little hurt.

"Don't start with me, John. And don't deny my apartment is bugged. Everything makes so much sense now. You've been spying on us all this time."

"Only to protect you. And there are no bugs in... _your_ private places." He grimaced. That sounded wrong. "I've tried to be discreet."

"'Discreet', John? Does that word have any place in this discussion? _Know this_. I want them out of here by tomorrow, the bugs, or I swear to God I will tear the place down finding them. Do you understand me?"

"But they are part of the protection for you all. Having your brother living with you puts you in danger, but the danger goes up now that you know."

"I understand. But no more bugs. Get them out, John." It was not a request.

Casey threw up his hands.

"So this thing, the program?"

The moron said it: "The Intersect."

"Yes, that. Stupid name. It's in your head? Is it hurting you? Frankly, Chuck, you look bad right now…"

"We don't _think_ it's doing any damage, but we are still studying that…" Casey offered.

"If I….access it too much, it strains me. I get, um, headaches."

"What happens when you access it? Do you suddenly become James Bond?'

Casey laughed involuntarily. The kid gave him a flat look.

"No, El. The program is designed to combine and recombine existing intelligence agency data, data from both the NSA and the CIA. The point is to identify patterns in all the data, to see...a meaning in it, predict possible outcomes. It's like I can see farther than either agency because I'm standing on one shoulder of each. And having me in the field is like having a supercomputer there to assist the agents."

"So you are like...what was that comic book character you liked as a kid, the gruesome one who talked to a computer in his head?"

" _Deathlok_? Yeah, he called it ' 'puter'." The kid smiled for the first time in a while. "No, it's not like that really. I'm not Deathlok. The Intersect doesn't talk to me. And Deathlok was more a man inside a machine; I'm more a machine inside a man." His smile twisted. "Um, if you know what I mean."

Ellie sat her coffee on the coffee table. She looked at her hands for a moment. She sighed. "So, John, you were a soldier. What about Sarah? Did she do anything else before she became a CIA agent?"

"I don't know," Casey admitted, frankly. "She's been CIA a long time. I've known of her for a long time, but always as an agent."

"And what kind of agent was she?" Ellie was looking hard at Casey and now so was the kid.

"The best. Langston Graham's...right hand." Casey shut his mouth. He did not know much more, but it really was not his information to share.

"And so, Chuck," Ellie said, turning to face him, "you and Sarah, the two of you were...fake dating all this time?"

"It was a cover, yeah."

"That explains a lot, but not everything. But we can talk later." Ellie sighed again. "So, this is what has been going on. This is why Sarah and Casey came into your life, our lives, this Intersect thing. And Bryce Larkin gave it to you. So why is Sarah in New Orleans, and not here, doing her damn job, protecting you?"

"Because she left to go with Bryce. The rogue spies he has been fighting call themselves 'Fulcrum'. A group of them thought that Bryce had the Intersect, and they were trying to get it, get him, for Fulcrum. Bryce...escaped and all the members of that group were killed or captured. Bryce has gone back undercover to rejoin the fight against Fulcrum. Sarah asked to be reassigned to go with him." The kid gave his sister a sad smile. She returned it in kind.

"I'm sorry, Chuck. But why? Why would she do that, especially if you three were such a good team, especially if she felt…." Ellie gesticulated emptily and let her question drop.

They sat in a thick, cool silence. Ellie picked up her coffee, sipped it, and made a face. "It's cold. I'm going to make a fresh pot, and then you will tell me all this again, but from the beginning, with details." She gave Chuck a searching look. "Tell it to me, Chuck, like a story." She got up and went into the kitchen.

Casey took a long pull from his mug. The coffee was getting cold. Might as well get some more. He knew it would be a long night.

ooOoo

Chuck took advantage of the break to go to the bathroom. He took some more aspirin. The scent of cloves seemed like it was smeared on him, like Thorne was lurking nearby. He washed his face and brushed his teeth quickly. The scent weakened.

He had slipped the burner phone into his pocket as he and Casey walked from the Crown Vic to the apartment. He took it out. He sent a text. He was not sure what to say, but he did not want to make Sarah think he was ignoring the gesture. Because he knew it was a gesture, was a big gesture. In its way, maybe bigger than the kiss. She had left the rule book behind in order to create a means of communication between them. _She_ had. Sarah. _Miss Incommunicado_. He was still hurt and angry, and he was still fighting images in his head of her with Bryce. Still. But…

 **Are you ok? -C.**

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 **A/N2** Whew. What did Casey find out from his CIA cleaner buddy? What did he and Beckman talk about? Will Chuck look at Sarah's file? What _is_ the deal with Thorne? Answers, or at least partial answers to these questions in Chapter 8, "A Thorn Without a Rose". Tune in! Oh, and leave me a review, please, to keep the train running.

Oh, and there's a terrific version of the hymn with which Casey threatens Chuck by Mumford and Sons, if you don't know the more cloistered version.


	9. Chapter 8: A Thorn Without a Rose

**A/N1** Thanks, folks, for all the reviews and PMs, all the interest in the story. As I have said, writing for a responsive audience makes writing so much more rewarding. Please stay in touch. If I haven't responded to a review or PM, be assured that I will.

We are getting toward the middle of our second arc, the _Look Homeward, Angel_ arc. A couple of characters come into better focus. Some horizonal events loom.

Don't own _Chuck._

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 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

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CHAPTER EIGHT

 _A Thorn Without a Rose_

* * *

"Never a rose without a thorn. Yes, but many a thorn without a rose."

-Arthur Schopenhauer

* * *

Bryce had a morning meeting with Garland and a 'financial friend'. Garland had called to set it up. Sarah had not really been enthusiastically invited, and she had begged off anyway. The visit to the house yesterday was enough Garland for Sarah. And Bryce was clearly gaining more of her attention, and perhaps a little of her trust.

Sarah had the morning to herself. She put on a ballcap and a t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, and she caught a streetcar to Audubon Park. She walked around and fed the ducks, then sat down at a metal picnic table under a large, permanent canopy. Joggers and bikers went by, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to her. She waited a few minutes more but saw no one a second time. No one had looked her way.

She pulled the burner out of her pocket. She had seen the text last night when she finally dared to look at it after Bryce had fallen asleep.

 **Are you ok? -C.**

She had read it and silently cried into her pillow. Whatever Chuck might think of what she had done, however hurt or angry or betrayed he felt, he was _Chuck_. He would care to know how she was before anything else. No one in her life had put her first as Chuck did. He did it not for some other end or to get something from her, but for the simple reason that she came first in his life. The very thought of it thrilled her head to toe.

But she had thrown it all away because she could not face the consequences of the kiss. She huffed to herself: _Like I escaped them. I just changed their zip code._ She had not been able to decide how to answer. _Absolutely miserable. Trapped for hours in a hotel room with my erstwhile lover fantasizing about the love you and I never made. Missing your curls so bad I want to pull my own hair out. My hands won't stop shaking unless I am thinking of you._

No, none of that would do. She did not know what was happening to Chuck, but undoubtedly he was bearing the brunt of the consequences of her decision too. Perhaps as miserably as she was. How should she reply?

 **Yes. But leaving Burbank was a mistake.**

 **Are *you* ok? -S.**

She finished the text but did not hit 'send'. _But leaving you, Chuck, was a mistake._ She could not get herself to change the words, although she knew that 'Burbank' meant 'Chuck'. Finally, she had understood that. _What is he thinking? Feeling? Is there any way back?_ Fearful to send the text, but more fearful not to, she sent it, praying for a response. She held her eyes closed for a moment, opened them, put the phone away, and walked back down to the water. Standing still for a long time in the shady embrace of a live oak tree, watching the swans grace the lagoon, she felt quieter than she had since she said _yes_ to Omaha.

ooOoo

June luxuriated in her bed. She had hustled the man she brought home out of it as soon as day broke. Kissing the Intersect had raced her motor; she had needed attention. But she did not need a _companio_ n. Not that faceless male body of last night, anyway. He served his purpose and she served him notice. She felt good.

Mostly, June had reckoned sex to be nothing more than two people sneezing on each other with their lower halves, sneezes that were often intensely pleasurable, admittedly. But, still, _you know,_ sneezes.

 _Pleasure and secretions_. A jetted thimbleful of fluid, and a warm, quick-seizing dampness: and... _that was that_. She had no idea...well, _almost no idea_ , why anyone believed it had anything to do with emotions.

She gritted her teeth. _Bartowski!_

Clearly, the Intersect was emotionally roped to Walker. June wondered if Walker had been bedding him. God, how June hated Walker! _Oh, yes, yes, I hate her._

June's hatred of Walker was old. It had started when Graham lost his prior Enforcer. June had coveted that position, eyed it as her prize. She had made sure that her missions were successes. More than successes. She had gone the extra mile every time to be sure Graham noticed her. She made it obvious she was every bit the spy Walker was, and then some.

Inexplicably, Graham had chosen Walker, groomed and favored her instead of June, gave Walker the high-impact, crucial, coveted assignments. So June labored in relative obscurity, hating every fiber of Walker's being all-the-day-long. _And extra on Sundays._ They had never crossed paths. June kept that from happening. She was certain if they met, she would dismantle Walker, regardless of where the meeting happened. She did not need that on her record, heartwarming though the thought of it was. _Blonde in pieces._ She smiled to herself, indulging the fantasy for a moment.

Oh, yes, she hated Walker. The Enforcer business would have been enough. But there were other things...She pushed them from her mind and snuggled under the covers, enjoying the feeling of the soft bedclothes against her naked body. She was almost sad that whatever endgame Graham had in mind, it would likely start soon. That was her gut feeling. _Too bad!_ She kind of liked Burbank.

ooOoo

Casey had gotten out of bed and sat in his heavy chair, his thinking chair. He was thinking. The read-in with Ellie had gone better than he had hoped. He had expected more anger, more outrage, less steady logic, and insight. _Damn these Bartowskis. There is no way of knowing with them._ By the time her brother had finished his story, the team's story, and fell asleep in his chair, Ellie had worked out about all there was to know about the team, and she had ideas about the Intersect that Casey had never heard, never thought of. _What a pistol! If I were younger..._

With Ellie, the sticking point was going to be _Thorne_. For now, Bartowski had to take the punishment. Casey would try to mitigate it, to keep chances for June to have him alone, rare. But it was going to happen. And June was planning to introduce herself soon at Echo Park soon, hoping to step into Sarah cover-shoes there too. Ellie was not happy with Sarah, but when she heard about June, June's actions, there had been murder in Ellie's eyes. _Did she curse Hippocrates? Yep._ Casey grinned to himself, remembering that moment. He and the moron had to talk her down. They would have to keep her down, or the whole jig would be, as folks said, _up_.

And there was a _jig_. He had talked to Beckman, alone. She and Graham were evidently not spending time together. He had told her about June and she had shaken her head, unsurprised. Angry. She had encouraged Casey to stay on his present course, to protect Bartowski from her as much as possible, and to try to wait it out. Beckman was sure that Graham was running some kind of grand side mission, and that he was treating the team as a means to an end, an end of his own. June was part of that side mission, although Beckman doubted that Graham had entrusted her with any knowledge of it. She'd know when it was time to play her part, not before. Whatever Graham was willing to say about Thorne, it was clear he knew she was a loose cannon. In fact, it was clear he was counting on that.

Beckman had effectively told Casey to stop reporting to Graham, or to censor his reports to Graham. He was to stay in close, daily contact with her, however. She still believed she could outfox the old fox. With Casey's help. Beckman had given her consent to reading Ellie and Devon in. She had not liked it, but the situation had become so bizarre that she thought it was allowable. Besides, Beckman was clearly afraid for Chuck's family, afraid of what Graham and Thorne might eventually try to do. Better if they were on the lookout. Better if the numbers game in Burbank changed in a way Graham did not know or even suspect.

Casey was worried about himself in the plan, his role in it. Not his safety, of course, just his ability. To have to pretend to serve two masters while only serving one. To keep score on who had been read-in and who not. To keep the kid from getting killed and his sister from killing Thorne. The good guys and bad guys had gotten scrambled in Burbank. _Scrambled like eggs._

Casey had also talked to his CIA cleaner buddy at last, after he had talked to Beckman. His buddy had been magniloquent, Shakespearean in his description of Thorne: "Psycho bitch!"

He told Casey about messes he had cleaned up after she finished. Casey had been a soldier, seen a lot of things. _A lot of things, God help me._ A couple of the descriptions made his stomach flip. The CIA cleaners all believed Thorne's psychiatric records at the CIA were being 'repainted' by someone, or that she was being evaluated by a doctor on the take, paid to give her a clean bill of mental health. He also shared some of the scuttlebutt about Thorne. Particularly her envy-driven hatred of Walker, her frustrated ambition. Casey had guessed at that already, so it was confirmation, not news. But then the news arrived.

"So, did you know Thorne was sleeping with Bryce Larkin? I don't mean now. A while ago. At least that's the other big rumor. It was going on at the same time Larkin was sleeping with Walker. Evidently, Larkin ended it with Thorne when he thought Walker had gotten suspicious. Thorne took it hard. Losing to Walker again, in an...intimate...battle."

Casey pulled his phone from his ear and shook his head, mouthing 'Goddamnit'. He could not have heard that right. "Wait," Casey implored. "I know Larkin. His womanizing reputation. I know he earned it. But even _Bryce Larkin_ would stay away from Thorne. There's no way. No way."

"But there is. I believe it, Casey. Larkin's a frat boy, a frat boy playing at being a spy. His appetite wins. He's not completely a bad guy. He is a good spy; I'm sure he loves his mother and his country, in his way. But you've _seen_ Thorne. Yes, inside she's Lizzie Borden; outside, though, she's Demi Moore, more or less. _G. I. June_. That's another name we have for her."

Casey laughed briefly, bitterly. Bartowski had called her that last night too.

His friend went on. "You know what a cesspool the Farm is, Langley is. Rumors all the time. And word is that Thorne makes the sheets hum. Normally, she's one-and-done. But not with Larkin, they say. She went all-in.

"Anyway, I believe it: Larkin was sleeping with her, for a while, anyway. He dumped her to go to go back to Walker or stay with Walker, something. Maybe he finally figured out Thorne was crazy, don't know that story. Never heard."

Casey considered Bartowski's claim that Larkin had slept with his old girlfriend, Jill. Maybe Larkin just was _that guy_. Incapable of personal fidelity except to an idol of himself, his romantic reputation.

 _Shit. Now I have to wonder who_ hasn't _slept with Bryce Larkin. I need to distribute a fucking questionnaire._

 _Goddamnit._ This situation kept getting worse. The steps to the jig were getting more and more complicated. The tempo of the music kept increasing. It was early in the day, and he would not give in, but, _Lord,_ Casey needed a drink.

ooOoo

Bryce returned excited from the meeting with Garland and her friend. The man Garland had introduced him to was clearly a player, on or with ties to the wrong team. The meeting had gone well. The man wanted to meet with Bryce soon. He had told Bryce he would call. But, better still, Garland had invited Bryce and Sarah to dinner at her house the next day. Bryce thought they were making quick progress, although he knew the two meetings would both be treacherous, treacherous in different ways and for different reasons, but both treacherous.

Bryce grabbed a change of clothes and went into the bathroom. He turned on the shower; Sarah heard the pitch of the water change when he got in. She quickly went back to the other room. She grabbed the burner and looked at it. A text.

 **Hanging in. New handler. June Thorne. :( -C**

Sarah gasped out loud.

Then she wheeled around. Thank God, Bryce was still in the shower.

Juniper Thorne. Sarah had never met Thorne but she knew she her bad reputation: on the edge or over it. Vindictive. Likes to hurt people, end people. And she was in Burbank with Chuck.

Sarah had been told that Thorne hated her, had expected to be Graham's next Enforcer. Sarah had not given it much thought. She was too busy doing the job Thorne envied. And, _Jesus!_ , it turned out not to be a job to envy. It was a damnation, not a promotion.

She put the phone away without responding to the text. She was frightened, really frightened for Chuck. Graham had given her a conditional kill order for Chuck before their first date, and Graham had done it as casually as he might order a coffee. Sarah knew she had frustrated Graham while in Burbank, kept him from doing all he wanted with, and to, Chuck. She had left Chuck - and now Graham had sent in a hatchet woman. _Chuck, oh, what have I done?_ She'd been so mired in her own panic she had not imagined the fallout for Chuck. She told herself Casey could somehow get Chuck through it, protect him. And Chuck's response to her betrayal was to ask if she was ok. A wave of nausea went through her, pure self-disgust. Her response to the single greatest kiss, the single greatest _moment_ of her life had been to sprint heedlessly into the dark. _Chuck!_

Bryce came out of the bathroom, a robe on. Sarah tried to take back control of herself. The images of Chuck hurt or being hurt. _Maybe Bryce knows Thorne?_ She could ask; she had to assess the threat to Chuck. Bryce would not know why she was asking.

"Bryce?"

"Yeah, Sarah, what is it?" He looked at her closely. She could feel the flush on her face, knew she was still showing traces of being upset. She knew he could see it.

"Tell me about June Thorne." Bryce looked away immediately, swallowed hard. Color rose in his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Sarah. Really. She meant nothing to me. It was a mistake."

ooOoo

Devon had not bothered Ellie. She'd been abstracted, preoccupied, untalkative all day. She had been in bed, staring at the ceiling last night when Devon got home. She had acknowledged him but not offered to talk. He knew she was to have had a big talk with Chuck; evidently, she had it.

Devon knew her. When Ellie was upset or when her mind was fully engaged, she took the plunge, went under. All that could be done was to wait for her to break the surface again. He loved his girlfriend so much he could think nothing but "Awesome!" when she came to mind. But he was also a little afraid of her focus. _Surgical focus._ She made most single-minded people look double-minded.

Ellie came out of the kitchen with two beers. She handed one to Devon. He took it and twisted off the top.

She gave him a speculative look. "Sit down, Devon, please. I have a lot to tell you and you are going to have to pretend you don't know any of it." Devon gulped. Pretending was like, well, his _worst subject_.

ooOoo

Graham examined the mousey young woman sitting in front of him. She was lost in the chair, almost swallowed by it. Graham was tempted to offer her a book to sit on. And maybe a sippy cup for her coffee. Graham smiled to himself. Yes, she looked twelve. But she was a computer genius of the rarest sort. She had taken the wreckage of the White Room, the first iteration of the Intersect Project, and put it all back together again. Luckily, Graham had been far-sighted.

He had distributed bits and pieces of the Intersect technology to CIA labs around the country, unmarked, only one or two at any location. After Larkin destroyed the White Room, Graham sent a team to collect the bits and pieces, and started over. But he started over with _her_. He wished he had found her sooner. Susie Lou LaRussa. She had the Project advancing faster than he had ever hoped.

Graham heard her name in his head as if the Coyote were saying it of himself as he chased the Roadrunner, the name stretched in unctuous enunciation. _Suuusie Looouu LaaaRuuussa_ , _suuupra-gennnius_. Graham missed cartoons. He needed to visit the grandkids, spend a Saturday morning with them eating sugary cereal in front of Cartoon Network.

Something about Susie Lou made Graham always think of cartoons.

"So, Susie Lou, where do things stand with the Intersect Project? Do we have a functional Intersect yet?"

"No," she said, a faint drawl sweetening her nasal tones. "But we are close, Director. Very close. Maybe a couple of weeks, maybe a month."

He nodded hard. "Fine. But I want no effort spared to finish. I need a working prototype faster than that, if possible. My plans require impressing the President."

Susie Lou nodded fearfully.

"This is all on you, you know." Graham made no effort to disguise the threat.

She squinted at him, unwilling to put on her glasses although they were hanging from a chain around her neck. She frowned beneath her squint. "I understand."

ooOoo

Chuck sat at the Nerd Herd desk clutching the thumb drive in his hand. He was not going to look, he had decided. But he needed to figure out what to do with it. Casey had called a few minutes before. Nova had been captured. Casey said the hacker was claiming that he had lost the thumb drive. They were going to let the guy spend a night under wraps in the safe house and Casey would interrogate him in the morning. That gave Chuck until the morning to figure out what he would do about the thumb drive.

ooOoo

"What?"

Sarah found Bryce's words unintelligible for a moment. They were an answer too distant from the question she had been asking.

Then she re-parsed her own words and heard them in relation to Bryce's answer. Bryce hadn't given Sarah information _about_ Thorne, or not as she wanted or anticipated. He had given her information about _himself_ , and about them, her and Bryce, about the them that used to be.

"You...you were _with_ Thorne? When we were together?" Tumblers tumbled, locks opened. "I was suspicious...I had a feeling."

Bryce tinged green, his still-damp hair suddenly looking sodden, muddy. He stared at the floor. "Not the whole time we were together. It started...later." He glanced up at her then back down.

"Like that makes it better?" Sarah paused. She felt no anger. "Cabo?" She frowned with one side of her face, knowing the answer.

Bryce nodded, shame-faced. "She followed us there. I was trying to break it off, but she is not an easy woman...not easy to...end things with."

"Was she the only one?"

"Yes, no, well…she was the only one it happened with more than once."

Sarah put her hand up and waved it. "I don't need to know, Bryce. I shouldn't have asked. Morbid curiosity, I guess...We are over. We were over a long time ago, even before you apparently went rogue." Words all-at-once began to tumble from Sarah; she could not stop them, boulders in a small-scale avalanche. "We were over when I started dreaming of something else, something real...a _future_. It was over because I realized that we would not be anything more than what we were: spies who shared a bed on missions, but who shared nothing but that bed, those missions. We were still the Anderson's when we were sleeping together, Bryce, still undercover.

"I just couldn't quite face my realizations or my dream...and so I let us go on after we were over. Facing things, facing the truth...is not my strong suit." She stopped, breathed in, breathed out. It was clear to her now. It had been so cloudy then.

"Frankly, Bryce, I never cared enough to follow up on my suspicions, to ask. That should have told me something. I never spent much time worrying about it. I was hurt by it, yes, my feelings and my pride, and I was...I am... _fond_ of you." Sarah sighed. "I'm not trying to hurt your feelings now. Or get back at you. I'm not. I just want to clear the air between us. I want to face some things." He nodded.

She continued. "What we had was not what I dreamed of, but it was better than being alone, and it made me begin to dream of more. I'm not angry. But, I have told you: _nothing is going to happen between us_. There is no need to wait. You could wait until the heat death of the universe, Bryce, and my answer would still be the same. It would be no."

Her voice was even, no rancor. She was not upset. She just felt tired. Tired of Bryce, tired of being a spy, tired of the never-ending, enforced and reckless shallowness of that life. _Spies don't fall in love. Why? Because they are so cooly self-controlled. No. Because they are incapable of real emotions. They choose to pretend so as to mask their unreality._

What was she doing in New Orleans? With Bryce? She had not wanted Bryce. She had not wanted a deep cover assignment. She had abandoned what she wanted.

She had run from a man who threatened her by...loving her. And she had felt the threat so viscerally because...because...she loved him back.

 _Chuck_. She _loved_ Chuck Bartowski.

What was she going to do about it?

Outside, the trumpet player she had heard on her first night began to blast _When the Saints Go Marching In._

"Bryce, we can talk about the past later, if you want. Your choice. I've said all I need to say. But right now, I need to know everything you know about June Thorne. Don't ask, tell."

* * *

 **A/N2** The great writer, Samuel Johnson, was once stopped on the street by a friend. "I've been trying to be a philosopher," the friend confided to Johnson, "but cheerfulness keeps breaking in." Ahem!

Tune in next time for Chapter 9, "Moments of Vision". June meets Ellie and Devon. Bryce and Sarah have dinner with Garland. Beckman gets a lead. And more. Leave a review, please! We're all pushing this thing forward together.


	10. Chapter 9: Moments of Vision

**A/N1** After this chapter, a bit of a break. I have some other duties that will eat into the free time I've used to scribble these chapters. Once the extra duties are done, I head to the beach. It may be Thursday or Friday before the next update. We will see.

Folks have been very kind to react to the story. Thanks so much! I've enjoyed reading and responding to reviews and PMs. I am still behind on responses to a few, but I should catch up soon. Please continue to stay in touch. (I say more about this in A/N2.)

Don't own _Chuck._

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

* * *

CHAPTER NINE

 _Moments of Vision_

* * *

"The creation of the world did not take place once and for all time, but takes place every day."

― Samuel Beckett, _Proust_

* * *

Sarah held the word by its edges, turning it this way and that, afraid almost to breathe, to think, for fear that the word would escape her delicate grasp: 'love'. _I am in love_. In love. _Love._ Sarah put her hand to her lips. She smiled behind it. _Love._

Bryce had claimed she still loved him when he had kissed her in Burbank. Although she had not responded, had not known her own heart well enough to respond, she could respond now. No, she did not still love him. That was false in two ways. She did not love him _still_. One. She had _never_ loved him. Two. Bryce had always made assumptions about her, never tried to know her. That was her fault too, not just his. She was opaque, not transparent, not even translucent. Trying to get to know her had to be like trying to stare through milk white glass. She had no experience sharing herself. But that was what love demanded. She could feel Sam stirring in her heart. Sam was game, ready to try to respond to the demands. Sarah was too, but she was bewildered by it all. _I want him to hold me, to let me tell him how I feel, if I can manage the word._

She made herself shift attention. As much as she wanted to linger in this sudden access of self-knowledge, to bask in this feeling, to learn what it was to be in love, she had far, far more urgent matters to face.

June Thorne was handling Chuck. Handling Sarah's asset. No, that was not right. _My guy._ Handling Sarah's guy, the man she loved.

The frowny face emoji that Chuck had included in his text had begun to panic Sarah. Chuck was not a complainer, not normally, a talker, yes, and he talked about his feelings, surely. Still, he was not one to let on or force others to hear about his own difficulties, sufferings. That made the emoji significant.

If he had included it, the situation with June had to be serious. Chuck would not have understood the emoji like that. He probably just meant to be funny, jokey, and to relax her. It was something he did for her often. By his stripes, she was spared. He often covered her discomfort with his self-revelation or self-mockery. But sometimes a joke was more than a joke. Sometimes a joke revealed.

She needed to see Chuck, ached for a moment of vision. He might reject her, he might never get past what she had done, but she needed to see him. To know with her own eyes that he was alright. She just needed a window; she just needed enough time.

ooOoo

Chuck grabbed the knob and opened the door, ready to head out of the apartment and over to Casey's. He was going to confess what he had done, going to give Casey the thumb drive and see if Casey could figure out what to do with it.

And there she stood. June Thorne. She was holding donuts. A box of donuts. She had a dark purple ribbon in her short hair and was clad in a gauzy lilac sundress. She had a pair of plain leather sandals on her bare feet. No makeup. No jewelry. For a moment, Chuck saw the woman, not the handler. She was lovely. Medium height. Statuesque.

"Hey, Chuck," her voice sounded merry, "I stopped by to see how you were holding up. I brought donuts." She was past him and into the apartment long before he could close his mouth, not to mention the door. He looked across the courtyard. He could see Casey staring out at him behind the partially opened shades. So Casey knew June was here. Chuck nodded at Casey then shut the door.

June had put the box of donuts down on the bar and went into the kitchen. She was rifling through the cupboards, the can of coffee already in one hand.

"I'll make us some coffee. I brought the cream-filled kind. They're my favorite." Everything June said was a little loud. Chuck finally caught on. It was all for the benefit of Ellie and Devon, should they be awake.

And, on cue, Ellie scuffed into the kitchen, her pajama bottoms long and partly beneath her feet, sleep still in her eyes. She saw June then glanced at Chuck.

"Oh, um, Ellie, this is June, _June Thorne_ , she's the new manager of the Wienerlicious and an old friend of Sarah's. We've been...um...hanging out the last few days."

June shut the cupboard she currently had open and turned a brilliant smile on Ellie. "Hi, Ellie! Chuck's told me a lot about you. Sarah told me some too. I feel like we already know each other."

A glint entered Ellie's eyes. "Hi, June. I sorta feel the same way. Let me help you." Chuck felt like he was in some bad existentialist play, everyone talking but no one sharing an agenda.

 _Samuel Beckett in the Kitchen_.

There was a knock at the door. Chuck knew who it was, but did not let on. He went and opened the door. "Casey!"

"Kid. Thought I'd see if I could bum a cup of coffee. I'm out and haven't been to the store." Casey walked into the kitchen and Chuck followed him. "Hey, June. It is _June_ , right?" Casey asked, pleasantly enough.

Ellie chimed in. "Oh, you two know each other."

"Yeah, she's been in the Buy More, talking to your brother. The other day she sold me a weenie on a stick."

Chuck was not sure where Casey was headed with that remark, so he spoke. "It's her specialty." Everyone in the kitchen looked at him at once. June in warning, Ellie in uncertainty, Casey in amusement.

"The kid's got a way with words, huh?"

June seemed to think that was her cue. "He does. He really does. I love to listen to Chuck talk." June's attempt to sound breathless sounded more like panting. It didn't matter. She was not fooling anyone, except herself, since she thought she was fooling Ellie.

Ellie started making coffee. June crossed to the donuts and opened the box. "What'll it be, Chuck?"

"But they're all the same," Chuck answered, glancing into the box. June gave him a hard look, aimed so Ellie could not see it.

"No, they aren't. They're all the same kind, but they are not all the same. If they were, there would only be one in the box."

Ellie turned from the coffee maker, her mouth open. The coffee maker gurgled and for a moment, it seemed to June and Chuck and Casey as if Ellie had made the sound.

June tried to laugh off the exchange. "Chuck always makes me talk a little crazy."

Casey turned away, clearly biting his tongue.

Ellie reached out and took June by the hand. "Hey, since we can, and since you brought the treat, let's let the guys finish up here. We can sit down. You can tell me all about yourself. Chuck mentioned you to me. So, you're the manager of weenies?"

As they left the kitchen, Casey sidled up to Chuck. "Did you know _that_ was coming?" Chuck shook his head. "Guess she wanted the advantage of surprise. Love the Girl-Next-Door look. Guess it would be more convincing if you lived next to the Hellmouth."

"Huh? What?"

"Look, Bartowski. I own a television. And the Duke's movies don't play 24/7. I see things."

Chuck nodded, but his attention had shifted to the living room. His sister was good. She was chatting away with June. Chuck knew Ellie would happily fork June in the thigh. But it did not show.

"Company! Awesome." Devon strolled in, annoyingly wide awake as he was first thing every morning. He walked to the living room. "Hey, El. Who's this?"

Ellie jumped to her feet. Anyone who knew her would have seen the stress on her face, but June did not know her. Ellie crossed quickly to Devon and took him by the hand. "This is Chuck's friend, June. I told you about her, remember?"

Devon's face was blank. Then it was not blank. Then it looked troubled. Then he knew. "Oh, right, June. Yeah, the Chuckster told Ellie and she told me. You know how news travels."

June shot Chuck a questioning look, but he shrugged. He was glad her attention had shifted away from Devon. "Hey, Dev," Chuck called, "June brought donuts!" Devon made an _Mmmmm_ sound and kept making it all the way into the kitchen. Chuck stepped gently on Devon's bare toes and Devon finally stopped the sound. He gave Chuck a hurt look.

Ellie sat back down and re-engaged with June. Chuck took them both a donut and coffee. He stood in the kitchen and ate one himself, alongside Casey, who did the same. Devon seemed a bit lost, but he finally started eating his.

Chuck did not know what June and Ellie were talking about. But the conversation seemed to be progressing fine. He relaxed a bit and drank his coffee.

A few minutes later, June stood up and announced that she needed to get to the restaurant. She thanked everyone for their hospitality. Chuck walked to her and escorted her to the door. She turned back to the rest of the group. Chuck had the strangest feeling that she was about to curtsy. Instead, she gave everyone a cheery wave. "Nice meeting all of you." She turned and made a point of taking Chuck's hand. After he opened the door, she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek chastely. "Good job. Nice family. I'd hate it if anything happened to them." Then she was gone. He saw her untying the purple ribbon as she neared the parking lot, trailing it in the breeze as she neared her Jeep.

ooOoo

Chuck walked with Casey back to Casey's place. Ellie had thrown the box of donuts on the floor after June left, and jumped up and down on it and them, all the while testing the size and dexterity of her off-color vocabulary. Devon had retreated to the bedroom, hiding his second donut from Ellie's gaze for fear she would stomp it too.

As they left the apartment, Ellie's was in the midst of a tirade, ranting about strangling June with June's purple ribbon.

When they got inside Casey's, Chuck pulled the thumb drive from his pocket and dropped it wordlessly on the table. Casey's eyes darkened with anger, but then they returned to normal. He faced Chuck. "Why, Bartowski?"

"I don't know. It was all too much. Sarah leaving. June arriving. I just had to do something, disobey in some way, for my own peace of mind."

Casey weighed Chuck's words. "I don't approve, kid, but I get it. A bridge too far?"

"Something like that."

"Did you look?" He nodded at the thumb drive.

"No, well, sorta. I opened it. There's a lot on there." He paused. "Sarah's file is on there."

Casey's head lifted; he had been staring down at the drive. "Really? And you looked?" Casey's voice took on a defensive edge.

"No, Casey. I didn't. I admit to being tempted. But no, I didn't."

Casey reached out and put a hand on Chuck's shoulder. "You'll do, Bartowski, you'll do." He grabbed the thumb drive. "I'll take care of this. Go calm your sister. I've never seen such blatant cruelty to pastries." There was a half-smile on Casey's face. Chuck left him standing there, tossing the thumb drive up and down in his hand, a thoughtful look on his face.

ooOoo

Casey sat down across from Nova. He put the thumb drive on the table between them. Nova gazed at it. Casey reached down and opened the bag he'd been carrying. He took out a laptop and put it on the table beside the thumb drive. Casey opened the laptop and waited for the wireless connection. When it appeared, he turned the laptop to Nova.

"You and I may be able to work something out, get all this to land on you less heavily. I need you to get me in another place like the one you entered to get that." Casey glanced at the thumb drive. "Any chance you can make that happen, from right here, right now. In and out without getting caught? No one else is here; the other agents are at lunch. This will be just between us. I will remember you; I'll do what I can for you. I have some pull." Casey could see the hunger with which Nova was looking at the laptop, the flashing cursor. An addict. "So, can you make that happen?" Nova interlaced his finger and extended his arms palms out, cracking his fingers. He smirked and started pounding on the keyboard, the sound like a tiny machine gun. Casey grunted in satisfaction.

ooOoo

One lesson Beckman learned a long time ago. Good intelligence work mostly never involved intelligence.

Rather, it involved mountains of sheer drudgery and an ability endlessly to sift through details. She had decided to take that approach against Graham. She put a team of NSA analysts to work checking government documents generated soon after Larkin destroyed the Intersect.

She knew it would likely be a waste of time. But now and then, there really was a needle in the haystack. This evening, late, they'd found the needle.

It was a set of hiring documents, submitted to secure government insurance for a new CIA lab worker. Her name was Susie Lou LaRussa. She was a computer expert. AI. High powered if her degrees were any indication. When her analyst mentioned the documents (they were in a stack of documents the analyst had brought to her office), she stopped him.

"Wait. Tell me more about this person, this Susie Lou…" Beckman could feel the needle. She had it. She'd get Graham, that prick, yet.

ooOoo

Sarah glanced up at the stained glass wolf above the door of the Garland house. It made her nervous. She just wanted to get this dinner over with. Respond to Chuck, what he sent.

Sarah had to get through tonight first. Patience. A spy's best friend. But she could not be patient. She was getting more and more worried about Chuck, about Thorne. Bryce had made it clear that June was seriously unstable. Really, the mere fact that she had responded to being jilted by following Bryce and Sarah to Cabo, well, that said almost all you needed to know. But Bryce had knowledge about a couple of her missions, the bloodbaths at the end of them. Sarah's hands were far from spotless ( _I don't want to think about that right now_ ) but the stories had chilled her, left her hands clenched tight.

Sarah wanted to get to Burbank. She wanted to see June Thorne. Chat with her. Spy to spy. And if Sarah got to Burbank, she wanted to see Chuck, even if only from a distance. She wanted to look at him while knowing that she loved him. She'd never gotten to do that with him. Maybe it would only happen once, maybe she would never see him again, but she wanted it to happen.

ooOoo

Earlier, Sarah had sent Chuck a text while she dressed for dinner. In the bathroom, she took out the burner.

 **Tell Casey if June oversteps. Be careful with her, Chuck. Do what she says.**

A few minutes later, she got a text in return.

 **Like, stay in the car? ;)**

Sarah laughed out loud, then covered her mouth with her hand.

 **If that's what she says. Promise, Chuck.**

Just before sending it, Sarah realized what she had typed. She erased 'Promise, Chuck." How could she ask him for a promise, what right did she have?

 **If that's what she says.**

She finished putting on her lipstick before another text arrived.

 **Ellie hates her. Ellie's not happy with you either.**

Sarah shook her head.

 **Why? She saw me. Awkward but ok.**

There was a long pause. Long. Longer. The burner glowed. Instead of a text, there was a picture of Sarah sitting at a table, Bryce's hand in hers. She immediately knew how it looked. She was about to respond when Bryce knocked on the door.

"We have to go, Sarah, or we will be late."

ooOoo

So now she had to face dinner with Garland with that picture on her mind. Why had Chuck sent it? What did it mean? What was he thinking? She had not mentioned Bryce, but she had hoped that telling Chuck that leaving Burbank was a mistake would suggest the truth, that she was not with Bryce. Not _that_ way. But of course, it wasn't clear. _Milk white glass._ She needed to let Chuck know that nothing was happening with Bryce. To somehow let him know was happening inside her.

Garland's butler let Sarah and Bryce into the house. He led them through several rooms to a smaller, more intimate dining room. Sarah had expected to eat at the massive table that held the buffet. But no, the scene had shifted. The butler poured Sarah and Bryce each a glass of wine. After that, he quietly disappeared.

A door other than the one the butler used opened and an elderly woman in a wheelchair rolled at considerable speed toward the table. She used her hands to stop the chair just before she contacted the table. The chair halted, the woman looked up at the two of them with a friendly smile.

"You must be the young couple come to have dinner with us. Gretta told me about you. Said you were both lookers. She wasn't lying. I'm Josephine Pollihue. I'm Gretta's monster-in-law. She married my adopted son, Tony Garland. Welcome! Take a seat. Mine travels with me." She grinned warmly.

The door Josephine used swung open again and Garland entered the room. She had on a very red dress, almost the color of a fire engine. She was as perfectly groomed as Sarah had yet seen her, more so than on public occasions when Sarah had seen her. The red dress left little of Garland to the imagination. Bryce reacted immediately, moving to Garland to pull out her chair and help her sit down at the head of the table.

"What a beautiful dress, Gretta," Bryce breathed out. Garland could not hide her relish in his reaction.

"Thank you, Bryce." She turned to Sarah, still smiling. "And welcome, Sarah."

"Very pleased to be here," Sarah offered in response, making sure to look and sound pleased.

"Please, both of you, sit." Gretta rang a small bell and servants began to bring in the meal. Bryce was seated at the end of the table nearest Garland. Sarah was beside him. Josephine was in her chair at the opposite end from her daughter-in-law.

It became clear quickly that Garland intended to talk with Bryce. She made only a token effort to include Sarah or Josephine. As Sarah ate, she chatted with Josephine and watched Bryce and Garland talking, engrossed. Sarah tried to keep her mind off of Chuck, the picture, June. Unexpectedly, Sarah heard Josephine whisper beside her.

"Can you stop it, or will you just have to live with it?"

Sarah whipped her head around. "Pardon me, Josephine, what did you say?"

"You heard me, Sarah. I'm the one who's sort of deaf, not you. My daughter-in-law is wearing her hunting dress. She plans to bag your husband. By 'bag', I mean fu..."

"I get it," Sarah broke in softly but insistently. "I know what you mean."

Josephine's eyes were sympathetic but challenging. "So, can you stop it? Stop Gretta from wishing your husband luck with a capital 'F'?"

Sarah was stuck. This was an eventuality for which she was completely unprepared. And her mind had been drifting.

"I don't know."

"Well, Gretta will eventually want you to know. _She'll make sure you know_."

Sarah turned more fully toward Josephine and locked eyes with her. "Can _you_ stop it, Josephine?"

"Hell, no. She really only invites me to dinner to make sure I see the man destined next to share her bed." She smiled bitterly, looking down at her chair. "I'm a captive audience at the peep show preview."

Sarah was still trying to recalibrate. Josephine fixed her with a speculative look. "You don't love your husband, do you?"

Sarah sputtered quietly. "Love him? Of course, I love him. He's my husband." _Love. I love Chuck._

"No, you don't. You've sat here watching the two of them in nauseating soup-course foreplay, and you've said nothing, done nothing, but watch it play out. And you _knew_ what you were watching. You are no fool, Sarah Anderson." The woman redirected her watery eyes toward Bryce, studying him carefully for a moment. "Huh. Pretty. I can see why Josephine's put on her red dress, I guess. Four-alarm fire. But you don't love him."

Exasperated, trying a new tack, Sarah ignored the claim and asked, "Is there any way to stop it?"

" _Take your husband and run_. If things have gotten this far, Gretta will see them through. No _coitus interruptus_ for my daughter-in-law, not of any sort. If he's within reach, she'll sleep with him. Especially since, and I am sorry to say this, Sarah, but one blessing of age is that you can finally _call them as you see them_...She'll succeed in sleeping with him, especially since he is willing to sleep with her."

Blinking, Sarah looked at Josephine and then at Bryce and Garland, laughing softly together. Josephine was right, of course. Bryce was willing to sleep with Garland. His talk with Sarah last night may have left him disappointed about a relationship with Sarah, but it had freed him to pursue whatever the mission would allow. She could tell that he judged the mission allowed him Garland.

"Thank you, Josephine. But I tell you: I do love my husband. I will stop this if I can." _Damn cover. Damn lies._

Josephine stared at her strangely, as if Sarah were transparent, then she shrugged. She left the topic alone for the rest of the meal, making small talk as if the serious talk had never happened.

ooOoo

In his room at the apartment, Chuck took out the burner. He scrolled through the exchange of texts with Sarah. She had not responded to the picture. _Yet._ Chuck was not sure he should have sent it, but he needed her to tell him what exactly was going on. _What's on your mind, Sarah, in your heart?_ If her leaving Burbank was a mistake, did that mean she would try to return? Or was she just registering regret, nothing more. He looked back at the photo. It could show nothing more than the cover.

The more he studied it, the less sure he was about Sarah's facial expression. She looked upset, not captivated. She was hard to read, but he had studied her. He was not fluent, native, in Sarah, maybe, but he could decipher more than she thought. The burners had been a big gesture, but he still was not sure exactly what it meant. Sarah had a gift for words and actions that were ambiguous. He needed her to declare herself so that he could decide what to do. Tell her Ellie knew. Tell her how he felt.

 _What are you thinking, Sarah? What are you feeling?_

* * *

 **A/N2** Challenging chapter to write, given the things I wanted to happen and the differing natures of the scenes. Tune in next time. Chuck thinks about sneaking to the Big Easy. Sarah thinks about sneaking to Burbank. Fulcrum makes an appearance. Bryce recalls his involvement with Thorne. Chapter 10, "A Million Miles Between Us".

I've been reflecting on fanfiction and the fanfiction community, the things I like about both and dislike about both. But it has become clear to me that the thing I like best is the feeling a writer has at times of pure story-telling, like sitting with friends around a campfire and saying, "Listen, I want to tell you a story. Once upon a time..." Everyone settles in and listens, reacting freely to the story as it is told; it is a deeply communal act. Writing here allows for a virtual re-creation of such a scene, such a communal act, and it is the reason why reviews and PMs matter, at least to me. They make real the communal aspect of what is happening.


	11. Chapter 10: A Million Miles Between Us

**A/N1** Here we are again, a day later. I guess I should stop forecasting updates. At this point, chapters are just happening, and it's not much up to me.

More context, back pages, and introspection. Some texting and a phone call. Unwelcome arrivals.

Our heroes have work to do.

Don't own _Chuck_.

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

* * *

CHAPTER TEN

 _A Million Miles Between Us_

* * *

There's such a difference between us/  
And a million miles  
-Adele, _Hello_

* * *

Frustrated, Bryce rolled over. Again. The bed seemed hard and lumpy. A long dinner of surreptitious touches and _double entendre_ from Garland, poured into a glass or two more wine than he should have been drinking on a mission ( _They were for the cover!_ ) had left him tense and awake. He was just tipsy enough to consider going into the front room to see if Sarah would let him join her on the couch. To consider it, not do it. She had made it completely clear that she was not interested, and in a tone that suggested any further explanation would be violent.

He really did not get her. They were young, beautiful...spies...sharing a mission and a hotel room. Why not share the bed? They had before. And it had been a long time for Bryce, longer than any time he could remember. Matters were becoming urgent.

He knew he had screwed up. But he and she had made no promises to each other. The whole marriage cover was just that, a cover. And a helpful excuse for bedding your partner, since that could be treated as cover maintenance. It should have been a fun thing. They could enjoy each other when undercover, and go their separate ways when missions ended. Like him, she could have just about anyone she wanted. Why limit the options? Spies did not fall in love. Except that Bryce came to believe that Sarah did fall in love with him. Of course, she never said the words, but he thought it was there in her eyes, in her decision to treat the relationship as exclusive. She'd never said that word 'exclusive', either, but after a while, Bryce realized that she was treating the relationship as that.

On one hand, it deeply gratified his ego to think that Sarah Walker, Graham's Enforcer, the Ice Queen, had fallen for him. And for a little while, the gratification was enough to make him think that perhaps he wanted to treat the relationship as exclusive. But then the other hand: almost as soon as he recognized that thought, it spooked him. One woman, even Sarah Walker? _One_ woman? It had been during that indecisive time that June Thorne came onto the scene.

He and Sarah were between missions. They had just gotten back to DC when she had been dispatched on an errand by Graham; she had rushed back out of town. Bryce had no idea where she had gone. All he could find out was that she would be back soon, maybe three or four days. This kind of thing had happened before, but not when Bryce was jittery about things between them, unsure he was happy for them to go the way Sarah seemed to want them to go. He shaved and dressed and went to a club, one distance from Langley, where he thought he would be unlikely to run into anyone who knew him.

He had been standing at the bar, wondering whether to take off his sport coat, when he felt an arm snake around his waist and heard his name. "Bryce Larkin!" He turned to see an attractive woman with black hair and strange eyes (they looked purple, but Bryce had thought it was the dancefloor lights reflected in them) staring frankly into his eyes. She clearly knew him but did not seem to expect him to know her. She smiled at him.

"You don't know me, do you?" She had to shout, the music was so loud. Bryce just shook his head. "Well, I obviously know you. And I'd enjoy knowing you better." She grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor, not waiting for an answer.

The woman turned to him once they were in the middle of the dance floor. She smiled again, the spinng lights from the ceiling crossing her face, creating changing patterns of illumination, making her seem more expressive than she had before, otherworldly, her eyes more capable of necromancy. She began to dance, a temple priestess before her dark god, and the entire club took notice. Sarah was a terrific dancer, Bryce knew, and capable of a focused sensuality on the dance floor that could hypnotize her partner. He wished he had seen it from her more often.

But this woman, whatever her name, she was wild desire unchained. Bryce had never seen anything like it. From the looks on the faces of other clubgoers, no one else had either. He was equal parts frightened and aroused, the two reaction melding, separating, melding again, finally one indistinguishable ache. She pulled him against her and managed in a few seconds to contact every part of the front of him with every part of the front of her. There was nothing coy about it, nothing come-hither. It was raw, deep, provocative and somehow burning, enraged all at the same time. Bryce honestly thought she was hardening him and melting him simultaneously.

Reeling, sweating, not quite sure where he was, what he was doing, or why he was doing it, he lost himself in her dance, in her, sinking slow and deep into her raspberry-jam eyes. When the song stopped, she grabbed him and pulled him to the bar, ordering drinks for them both. She put the glass to his lips and tipped it up, giving him no choice but to drink it or have it spill down the front of him. She gulped hers and then pulled him back to the floor. He lost track of trips from bar to floor to bar to floor. He lost track of himself. Bryce was not the sort of guy who paid close attention to many songs, but he had to Prince's _Darling Nikki._ He had the strangest, briefest thought that he was living the song. She pulled him from the bar to her car, her car to her apartment door, her apartment door to her bed. She pulled Bryce onto her magically now-naked body and she started to consume him. He let himself be consumed.

The next couple of days were a phantasmagoria of sex. Bryce had no idea if the sex was good; all he knew was its intensity and the gripping hunger of the woman. The second morning she told him her name, told him they were co-workers, told him she's seen him around a few times, and told him she wanted him to stay another day. She had gotten up to go to the bathroom. He tried to call Sarah but she did not answer. He put the phone away and braced himself for another round.

He had tried to break it off. She seemed to think that two days in bed together was a de facto commitment. He began slowly to suspect that she had seen him around more than a few times. She knew a lot about him. His habits, preferences, quirks. He finally recognized her name. He knew her by reputation, a bad reputation.

Sarah's absence extended. Graham would say nothing except that she was fine and would be back soon. _Unavoidably detained._ Bryce did not mean to spend each day at June's, but he found himself there, unable to leave, unable to keep his hands off her, growing steadily more unnerved by her nonetheless.

She was deeply broken. That much Bryce finally figured out. For some reason, she thought he was her fix, that he would fix her. She seemed to want something from him but he had no idea what it was, but he could see an expectation in her eyes as she panted after each coupling. She would roll into him and cling to him almost like a child. But then, a few minutes later she would push him away.

When Sarah returned he tried to explain to June that things between them could not continue. It had been a fling, an amazing fling, but nothing more. He was seeing someone. She seemed to know that but called him a liar nonetheless. After that, she had said nothing but he could feel the rage rolling off her.

Graham gave Sarah some time off and a bonus, and Sarah suggested a trip to Cabo. Bryce, eager to get out of DC and away from June, and still trying to work out what he wanted with Sarah, if anything, was happy to go. But June followed them.

Bryce rolled over in bed yet again. Cabo had been bad. He had, of course, not been able to send June packing before having sex with her again. And yet again. He really had screwed things up.

ooOoo

Sarah could hear Bryce rolling around. She ignored it. He seemed unlikely to get back up. She had put off responding to Chuck's text until she could decide what to say. She stared up at the hotel ceiling. She took the text to be an explanation of Ellie's anger. But she took it to be more than that. It was a request from Chuck, a way of asking her questions. _Leaving Burbank was a mistake; ok, but what does that mean, Sarah? Why are you there with him and not here with me?_

 _Because I run. My resting posture is in sprinter's blocks. I've never let myself make a commitment, a real one, deep and whole, not before you. By avoiding real commitments I've kept Sam asleep; yes, unaware of the beauty she might have seen, but unaware of the ugliness too, the ugliness of my life from early on. But she is awake now and she is me and I don't know how to be me. I only know how to be someone else, anyone else._

She could not put all that in a text. And he deserved to hear all that from her. She had to get to Burbank.

 **Bryce and I are working together. Nothing more. Nothing.**

She sent the text. She was surprised by an immediate response.

 **So you left for the job?**

The job. It had to come up. She was not Chuck's handler now, he was not her asset. But she was a spy, on a mission with Bryce, a mission that might go on and on. She had left for the job but not quite as Chuck probably thought. She had left because she no longer knew how to do her job in Burbank. The job in 'Omaha', New Orleans, as it turned out, was a job she knew she could do. Or she thought she knew that until she got on the plane. Now she was not sure she could do it. She knew this much with undeniable certainty: her heart was not in the job in New Orleans. Whatever had driven her as a spy before, a tightly coiled pain that drove her forward, loosened and uncoiled in Burbank, responded to Chuck's presence. She had shuffled it off.

Of course, she was a professional and she could do what needed to be done, a strange conversation with Josephine Pollihue notwithstanding. Sarah's hands were not shaking now ( _not much_ ) and she could breathe ( _almost normally_ ). She could do the job in New Orleans, keep Bryce alive ( _because that's always been my share of our division of labor_ ). But she wanted to be in Burbank, protecting the man she loved. Except her bosses would not let her protect the man she loved. Her job was keeping her from the job she wanted and trapping her in the one she did not.

 **No, I left because of the incident between us.**

God, she was so pitiful.

 **Incident? Is that a euphemism?**

She laughed to herself even as she winced. He knew her.

Then she stopped. Thought. He did. He knew her. He learned how to see through the white glass.

 **Yes. Sorry. The kiss. I left because of the kiss.**

She bit her lip, anxious about Chuck's response but also involuntarily living through the kiss yet again.

 **Was it** **that bad?**

She laughed again. Out loud. She listened; Bryce did not stir.

 **No. It was different from any other kiss.**

She really needed to expand her vocabulary. 'Different'? That was all she could muster?

 **For me too. And I'm different now.**

She caught her breath. She'd expected another question or a jab at 'different'.

 **Me too, Chuck.**

She felt her abdomen melt in love and desire and wonder. She sent again.

 **Gotta sleep. Late here.**

She was tired. Her nerves had been on edge all night. She felt peaceful now. The phone glowed.

 **Sleep tight. :)**

ooOoo

It was early in DC. Beckman was sitting in a McDonald's, wearing civilian clothes. Not her normal breakfast place. She usually just got the Gallon-o'-Coffee from some coffee shop drive-thru and drank it as it became more bitter and colder all morning long. Sort of like her.

She was at McDonald's because it was the place where Susie Lou LaRussa had breakfast seven days a week. She lived alone and did not grocery shop, Beckman knew. It took one NSA agent exactly one day to work up a full dossier on LaRussa, just a brief tail and a few questions asked at places she stopped. Outside of whatever she did inside Langley, there was almost nothing to know.

She ate two meals a day. One at this McDonald's, a sausage burrito (Beckman trembled at the thought) and an orange juice. A second from a vending machine in a gas station near Langley. She would sit in the car and eat it, drinking Diet Dr. Pepper. Then Susie Lou would drive home.

The small woman came in, looking through her thick glasses in distraction. She seemed to be mumbling something to herself. She ordered her breakfast and slowly counted out the exact change. When she got to her table in the corner, Beckman watched her take her receipt and check the math on it. More than once. Susie fell back into distraction, chewing mechanically. It took Beckman a second to realize that Susie was counting each time she chewed, and that she took a sip of orange juice after every other bite.

Beckman got up with her tray. Nothing was on it but her empty cup and her receipt. She chose the trash can beside Susie's table. She 'dropped' the cup off the tray, just missing the can's opening, and it bounced off the top of the can and rolled between Susie's feet.

Spy bowling. Beckman still had game.

"Hi, so sorry about that."

Susie smiled nervously after looking around to see who Beckman had spoken too.

"Say, I see you love the burrito too."

Susie's smile widened. She was clearly glad to have company. "Yes, I have one each and every morning. Exactly enough for me, and so tasty."

"Did I see you checking your receipt?"

"Oh, yes. People think that just because the staff here is using computers that they are always being charged correctly, that the bill is being calculated correctly. And of course, most of the time it is. But computers are fallible too. I always feel better if I check."

Beckman nodded. "That's good to know. Thanks. Maybe I will see you again. I've retired and this place is near home for me."

Susie's face lit up. "That'd be nice. I usually don't have anyone to talk to when I eat."

Beckman gave her a genuine smile and left the restaurant. She felt guilty. She wasn't planning on returning, although she wanted to create the opportunity in case she needed it. She really just wanted to get a personal sense of LaRussa. Graham's gift for finding the vulnerable genius was clearly intact and engaged. He had been doing it for years.

ooOoo

Chuck was again scrolling through the text exchange from last night. It had made him feel good until it made him angry. She had left because of him, because of the kiss. Not because of Bryce. All this tormenting of himself with Bryce-and-Sarah images had been unnecessary. He was glad about that. But he was also frustrated with Sarah. She knew she would create those images. Knew it. She knew she would create them and they would haunt him against the memory of their kiss.

She had felt something. He knew Sarah's reductive, self-protective vocabulary. 'Different' in this context meant 'better than'. Of that, he was sure. She had felt something and still, she ran. She knew he had felt something, and still, she ran. She ran. It was like a kids book. _This is Sarah. See Sarah run._ It was her deal. When things got real, Sarah Walker rabbited. Gunfire, covers, pretense, lies... she held her ground nervelessly. A twinge of real human emotion (her own), the barest suggestion of feelings (her own)...and she cowered.

Chuck knew that wasn't completely fair. _Yes, Ellie, I love her. But who knows if that is going to matter in the larger scheme of things. She's in New Orleans. I am in Burbank. She is a spy. I am the property of spies._

Chuck considered trying to sneak away from Thorne, to get to New Orleans. See Sarah in person. He needed to look into her eyes. He could find her in them sometimes. Sometimes she let him; sometimes he stole upon her. Maybe they could figure something face-to-face.

Chuck thought Casey might actually let him go. Maybe he would insist on coming. Then Chuck thought of Beckman: maybe Casey would not let him go. The flight would take basically six hours, non-stop. He would need time to get to her if she would agree to meet.

But he knew Thorne's plan. She had called him and told him. _Brace yourself_ , she told him. Starting the day after tomorrow, the next few days were all going to be _file days_. Casey was going to try to get Chuck a few breaks. Also looming in a few days was a video conference with Graham, an evaluation of the results of the file day he had done with Thorne and the file days he was about to do. _Weird, really, that video conference with Graham. Ominous._ Chuck would have no chance to try to get to New Orleans for at least several days. Even if Casey were willing to let him go, or to go with him, it would be hard to pull it off. His freedom was muzzled, as it had been since the beginning. He was stuck in Burbank alone.

 _Well, not alone; he had Casey. And Thorne._ Sarah's warning about Thorne was fresh in Chuck's mind. So too was June's implied threat to his family. He was stuck. He was not going anywhere right away.

Somehow, there was always a gulf fixed between Sarah and him, first the emotional distance, and now the physical distance. And trying to cross the distances always seemed to endanger other people he cared for.

Maybe he had chased her for long enough. Maybe it just was not meant to be. She had not chosen Bryce. That was something. Not enough, but something. _It was different from any other kiss._ It was. Chuck was different now. He meant what he told Sarah. He knew who he wanted to spend his life with. _Sarah._ It was impossible, though. He could see no path forward for them.

He wished he could get the anger he felt toward her finally to pass. Sarah had joined his parents in that strange overlap of circles on Chuck's emotional Venn diagram, the overlap of the circle of people he loved and of the circle of people with whom he was angry.

ooOoo

Casey read over the reports again. Nova was good. As far as Casey could tell, Nova got in and got out without a trace. Casey would do what he could for the hacker. He had managed to keep June from getting her hands on him. That was already a sizable favor, especially since June blamed Nova almost as much as Chuck for what she took to be a black mark on her record. Casey had done what he needed to do with the drive, then he sent it on its way to Beckman.

The reports were what Casey expected, what Casey feared. June Thorne was certifiable. More than one CIA psychiatrist had recommended not only that she be removed from the field but that she go into treatment immediately. She was a danger to herself and to anyone around her. Langston Graham knew this, he must have known this, and yet he had suppressed it. Graham's signature was on the original documents. _What are you doing, Graham? Keeping this woman in the field was cruel to her, and, God, to her marks, assets...victims._

Casey knew only too well that intelligence services often ran agents on the edge and kept them in the field when indications were unfavorable. This was so much worse. It wasn't like Thorne was walking the edge of psychopathy; she had plunged in head first.

It was as he had expected, feared. The documents told him little that was new about June But they told him of Graham's complicity. He would get the reports to Beckman by back channels. Maybe she could twist Graham's arm and get June re-assigned. _Probably too much to hope we can get Walker back. It'd sure make the kid happy, though._

ooOoo

Bryce had a very early breakfast meeting with Garland's financial friend. Bryce was convinced the man was Fulcrum or was the gateway to Fulcrum. There was a breakfast meeting, then a day-long tour to see various properties in and around the city, properties Bryce had told Garland he might be interested in. Bryce got up early and dressed casually, as Garland instructed, since they would be doing a lot of walking. He put on a light blue t-shirt and jeans. After putting on his socks, he started hunting for his Chuck Taylors. He eventually found them under the bed. _It must be housekeeping_. He needed to talk to one of the staff, to find out why his shoes kept ending up there.

ooOoo

Sarah disembarked in Burbank in the late morning, local time. She left Bryce a note, saying that she would be back late, but not explaining where she was, or that she was leaving town. She did not have much time. She needed to see Chuck.

She had called Casey while she sat on the plane, waiting for passengers to finish boarding. She used her phone from Burbank. It was brutally early in Burbank, but she was not going to just reappear on her partner after she had just disappeared on him.

Rings. More rings. Then: "Uummmmmhheelllo?"

"Casey. Walker."

A pause, away-from-phone grumbling. "Walker. Surprise."

"Bad about those lately. Sorry."

"Yeah. And…"

"I'm coming to town. Be there in a few hours."

"Huh. Bringing Bryce?"

"No."

"Huh. Coming to see the kid?"

Sarah closed her eyes. She knew this trip would not be easy.

"Yes."

"He's...hurting. But he's keeping his head up."

She closed her eyes. "He's Chuck."

"Yeah, he is. What's the point, Walker? Why come back? You'll ruin him again, and the kid has troubles enough." An edge crept into Casey's voice.

Sarah felt her throat close. "I...I just have to see him."

Casey was silent a while. "Right. Something you should know…"

"What?"

"The kid...found...a thumb drive on a mission here. Information a hacker got on a deep dive into government computers. Thumb drive had current _and past_ information on lots of agents. You, for one."

Everything went out of focus for Sarah.

"But the kid didn't look at it, Walker. He said he didn't. I trust him on that."

She was still reeling. "Why tell me this, Casey?"

"A welcome-home gift. Look, Walker, the kid doesn't care about your past. Curious, yes? Deal-breaker, no."

"But, Casey, the things I've been assigned to do...the things I've done."

"Me too, Walker." They were both funeral silent.

Sarah finally spoke in a whisper. "He didn't look?"

"No."

"But I have to tell him."

"Why? The kid's no fool. And he has an active imagination."

Sarah laughed but was immediately serious again. "But imagining is not knowing."

"We _are_ still talking about Bartowski, right? _The kid? Captain Imagination?_ Look ahead, Walker; don't keep looking over your shoulder. Didn't do Lot's wife any good. Bartowski didn't look over your shoulder."

Sarah took a minute to ponder all that, then caught the reference. "Oh. The pillar of salt story." She could not keep a note of surprise from her tone.

"Why is it no one thinks I read books or watch television? I wasn't hatched...Jesus!"

Sarah suppressed a giggle. "No, you weren't. And thanks, John. Anything else I need to know?"

Pause. "Um...no, nothing the kid won't tell you. You are welcome. Kid's shift at the Buy More doesn't start 'till late afternoon. Ellie and Devon are working doubles, I think. G'luck, Sarah."

She ended the call.

Sarah planned to see Thorne too. _A chat._ But she had decided to wait on that until she talked to Chuck, and could find out more about June, how she was handling Chuck. Sarah felt a spike of anger and...jealousy. And anger. Anger most.

She walked through Bob Hope Airport. She had brought no baggage. Her return flight was in six hours. _Chuck._ She was filled with excitement. And fear. Fear too.

ooOoo

 _This is the spot,_ Max Anders thought to himself. _The final ping on Tommy Delgado's phone was here._ Anders was standing in a parking lot facing a host of storefronts, large and small. Cursing Delgado to himself, he looked from store to store. _Grandstanding ass. Always trying to get all the glory. Claimed he found 'the Holy Grail'. But only wanted to turn it over on his terms. No doubt those terms involved moving up the Fulcrum food chain._ And now Delgado was missing, with his team; the folks at the top of the food chain had begun to wonder what he had been up to and where he had gone.

 _The Holy Grail._ That had been the phrase Delgado used last when he talked to Anders-well over a week ago. Delgado had to mean the Intersect. What had Delgado found? Had he found the Intersect or just found something that might lead to the Intersect? Anders was not sure. Not for the first time, he regretted the fact that spies were not exactly big on the sharing of information, rogue spies especially. Fulcrum was more dysfunctional than the organizations it intended to replace. _At least Fulcrum pays well._

Anders finished considering all the storefronts. _If I were the Intersect, where would I hide? Large Mart? Maybe. Cavernous and cold, though. Too Big. Underpants, Etc.? What the hell was the_ et cetera _? Maybe. No, too embarrassing. The Buy More?_ Anders laughed as he realized he had been thinking like Goldilocks. _Yes, the Buy More. It was just right._

He walked inside.

* * *

 **A/N2** And we break away. Tune in next time for Chapter 11, "Love Goes On". I could provide previews, but I'll let you use your imaginations. Review, please?

 **A/N3** I've been reading SalishSea's _Bodyguard_. Nice story. Tense. WilieGarvin has a new one-shot _Hail Mary_ _._ One thing I like about it is the satirical undertone of the serious story. WG does a nice job of making clear just how mind-numbing the suspension of disbelief required for the final episodes is, on both Sarah's part and the viewers. Outside of fanfiction, I am reading Knausgaard's _My Struggle_ and H. D.'s _Tribute to Freud._ If you are looking for something on _Chuck_ to read in celebration of the show's anniversary, I offer my book, _Chuck: Real Love in the Spy Life_. It's free on my website. kellydeanjolley dot com


	12. Chapter 11: Love Goes On

**A/N1** Another chapter. Let's get right to it.

Thanks for all the responses, the reviews and PMs.

Don't own _Chuck_.

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

* * *

CHAPTER ELEVEN

 _Love Goes On_

* * *

Lovers trip, lovers stumble  
Lovers dip, lovers fumble  
Lovers lip where love has crumbled  
Beyond caution where lovers walk  
-Elvis Costello, _Lovers Walk_

* * *

Midday, Echo Park, Chuck abed. Napping. Dozing. Asleep in dreams. _Sarah._

"Chuck?" Chuck is instantaneously awake. Sarah is halfway in, halfway out of the Morgan Door. Arriving or departing?

"Sarah." Somehow, that is Chuck's answer to her question. He stands up, self-consciously adjusting his bed-wrinkled polo shirt. Sarah is looking at him-her eyes as full as he has ever seen them. She is in them.

ooOoo

Midday, Echo Park, Sarah entering the Morgan Door. Hoping against hope. Awake with fear. _Chuck._

"Chuck?" She does not want to scare him or confuse him. She waits in the Morgan Door for a response. He immediately says her name, as if it were his answer. To everything. Her hands tremble, but not as before. This is not dread or remorse. It is anticipation. So close: she is so close to everything she wants.

Chuck stands up in one motion but then starts smoothing out his shirt, trying to make himself presentable. He looks miraculous, delicious. Her heart pounds and her mouth waters.

She realizes she's stopped in the Door. She steps in, careful not to catch herself on the frame. Chuck steps toward her hesitantly. Then they slam into each other. Sarah has no memory of closing the distance; she's simply overwhelmed by his closeness. The scent of him surrounds her. _Home at last._ And then they are kissing, and it turns out their earlier kiss had not ended. It had only been interrupted. The best part was yet to come.

Her mouth on his, eagerly searching, just as eagerly yielding to search. Combining, the taste of him, the scent of him, the feel of him, the feel of him against her ( _So hard against me!_ ), confounding all her senses at once. She can hear him too, humming his desire aloud, his breathing becoming ragged, matching her own, Ann and Andy.

ooOoo

[ _Tense Shift_ ]

The man she loved was in her arms. He pulled back, slowly; they had to breathe but neither wanted to. Sarah gazed into his eyes. He gazed into hers. _I love you, Chuck. I do._

She stepped back, immediately awkward, uncomfortable. _I have no idea how to be in love with you._ A look of hurt registered in Chuck's eyes; he stepped back too.

He was speaking. "No, not again. Please don't, Sarah. Please. I can't take it again. Don't tell me this is uncomfortable for you!" By the time he finished his plea, it hardened into an order. His tone petrified, flinty, angry. So unlike Chuck.

Still speaking: "Because kissing me like that and running once was not enough? Do I need a sequel? 'The Incident, _Part Deux'?_ I hate sequels, Sarah." He was out the bedroom door, slamming it, before Sarah could move her mouth, make it respond to her heart. One so empty, the other so full.

 _No. No. Not again. I can't do this to us again. To him again. Speak, Sarah, please, speak._ Sarah lunged for the door and yanked it open. She flashed through it. Chuck had almost reached the front door, his shoulders hunched, fists clenched, head down.

She tried to call out to him. No words came, not even his name.

She had to stop him. He misunderstood. She was not running again; he had to know that; she had to make him know that. She could not let him run from her.

The only thing that came to mind was the thing she did: she tackled him, hard, and they both slammed to the floor. Chuck face down, Sarah atop his back.

They were frozen like that for a moment, she supported by him. Time stopped. But Sarah's mouth finally started. She leaned down, her lips in contact with Chuck's ear as she whispered to him.

"I love you, Chuck Bartowski. I love you. I love you. I love you." Each whisper increased her. She expanded to fill the room, the courtyard, Burbank, LA. She was ubiquitous, everywhere at once but always in contact with Chuck. She was Sarah; she was Sam; she was her. She was in love.

She put her hands on the floor and levered her weight off of Chuck. He rolled over beneath her and she gasped. She had burst his lip. He smiled at her anyway, his smile joyous and bloodied at the same time. "God, I'm glad you don't _hate_ me." He wiped his bloody lower lip.

Her eyes filled with tears, and the tears dripped onto his face, mingling with his blood and his joy, still apparent.

"I'm so, so sorry Chuck. For this, but not just for this. For so much. So much..."

Chuck used his non-bloody hand to press gently against her lips. "I love you too, Sarah Walker. So much it kills me...almost." He smiled again. Smiling through her tears, she stood up and gave him her hand. She helped him stand.

ooOoo

Chuck's lip stopped bleeding. It looked worse than it was. Sarah held his hand and led him into his room. They stopped at the side of his bed. He stared at the bed but did not look at her, although she knew that he was all-too-conscious of her. She knew. She stared at the bed but was all-too-conscious of him.

The question had been on her mind on the plane. Was she going to sleep with him? Her need for him, to have him touch her intimately in the most intimate places, was profound. Deeper than she knew need could go, down and down. She was sure that all it would take would be his hand brushing against her in one of the right places, the merest fleeting touch or exhaled warmth of breath, and she would be gone, wrecked by pleasure head-to-toe. She felt his hand shaking in hers. He was on the edge too. He finally looked at her, his question in the brightness of his eyes and the flush on his cheeks. Would they take the leap?

Sarah forced herself to let go of his hand for a moment and sit down, not lie down, on the bed. After a beat, he sat down beside her and took her hand again.

"I want to, Chuck. I'm desperate to be with you. I don't think I've ever wanted, needed, anything so much. But I don't...I want…"

"I get it, Sarah. I can't do...I need you like I need air...but not for one night...one afternoon. You have to go back."

It was a statement, not a question. She gave him a shallow nod. "Flight's at six."

He exhaled slowly. "Right. So, Sarah, why are you here?"

She sat still for a moment. "I had to tell you...what I told you. In person. I had to see you, see that you were ok."

"I know...and I thank you. But why are you here? What are you hoping for? If we aren't going to sleep together, are we going to say we love each other and go our separate ways?" She could see the hurt she had caused appear on his face. "If we love each other, shouldn't we be hoping for us, fighting for us?"

He looked deep into her eyes. "Or are we just going to _Casablanca_ our way to the closing credits?" Sarah blinked. Chuck went on. "Me as Rick; Casey as Captain Louis. And you...as Ilsa, Bryce...as Victor Lazlo. Do I get to lose you a second time, after all? Watch you fly away?"

Sarah felt hot tears on her cheeks. She was a spy. He was the Intersect. They were not handler and asset, but the fundamental dynamic had worsened, not gotten better. She was supposed to be in deep cover, spying in New Orleans. She had a cover wedding ring in her pocket. He was supposed to be flashing in Burbank. If Bryce reported her, she could lose her job. True, deep cover gave a spy a lot of leeway, room to make her own decisions. But this, returning to Chuck, if Graham did not fire her, he might put her in a bunker, or some professional equivalent.

She was not ready to stop being a spy. It was not that she was so attached to the spy life. _I never loved it as Bryce does, or as Carina. I was conscripted. They volunteered._ It was that she knew she was not yet ready for a normal life. _I bloodied my...boyfriend...trying to tell him...I love him._ She needed time to prepare for another life, to grow into it.

The enormity of what she had done settled on her. But then Chuck took her other hand in his too, and she would have done it all again. Countless times again.

She smiled, but sadly. "I wore blue, Fulcrum wore grey?"

He called her smile and raised her a wince. "Something like that."

They sat there. "Sarah, are we...together? Like, do you think we are a _couple_?"

Sarah looked him in the eyes. "Yes, Chuck. You are my guy. I am your girl. That's that."

He smiled less sadly. He stood and started pacing in tight circles. "Then we will make this work. We will figure something out. You are Sarah Walker. You can do anything. I'm Chuck Bartowski and I am the Intersect."

He stood still for a moment and she saw a flame of anger in his eyes. "But, Sarah, you have to mean what you just said…How can I..."

"Chuck, I came home between shifts. I brought you some food…"

Ellie was in the doorway to his room. She had opened the door and still had her hand on the knob. They had not heard her. Ellie stared at Sarah in shock. Sarah stood. Chuck gulped.

Ellie gave them both a tight smile before zeroing in on Sarah. " _Agent Walker_ , I presume?"

ooOoo

Max Anders had been walking around the Buy More, pretending to browse. Service sucked. No one had even acknowledged him. His attention was focused on the Nerd Herd desk. An attractive woman in an Austrian stripper's costume was standing at the desk, talking to a small, bearded man. _Right, the Wienerlicious._ The man was clearly frightened. Anders made his way closer, got within earshot.

"So, Chuck's not here?"

"No. His shift doesn't start for a couple of hours. He's due to work on repairs tonight. He's...um...he's a genius at that sorta thing."

The woman was annoyed. "I know, I know. Just tell him June is working and that she wants to see him before he clocks in."

The bearded man nodded. "Will do."

Anders watched the woman walk away. Those Wienerlicious people sure knew about weiners. That costume. _Wow._

Anders walked to the desk. He watched the woman leave the store. So too did the bearded man. Anders had a gut feeling. Spying was so much dumb luck most of the time. He turned to the little man.

"I have a computer that's giving me trouble. No one seems to be able to fix it. I heard you mention your friend. _Chuck_ was it?"

The little man grinned. "My boy Chuck is the best. It's like he's half-computer himself. Stanford guy." There was pride in the bearded man's voice.

"You don't say? And he works at the Buy More?"

"Yeah, yeah, but don't judge, mister. He's destined for better things."

A pudgy man with wispy hair joined them. "Yeah, Chuck is the Motherboard Whisperer. The Caresser of Circuitry. And he's a beautiful, beautiful man. Someday we'll make beautiful children together."

Anders boggled for a second, then forced his mind to move forward. "So...Chuck. Chuck _Smith?"_

The pudgy man shook his head. "Nah. Chuck _Bartowski_. That's him," the pudgy man pointed by nodding his head toward a picture on the wall, "Employee of the Month. He's always Employee of the Month." The pudgy man's voice had gotten dreamy.

"Good to know. I'll be back." Anders walked away from the desk and to the wall. He saw a thumbtacked photo of a young man with a friendly face and curly hair. "Hello, Chuck!" Anders muttered. He looked around. The two men at the desk were fiddling with a video camera, arguing. Anders pulled the photo down from the wall and tucked it under his shirt. It was a place to start, a promising place.

ooOoo

Sarah's mouth was hanging open. Ellie was still standing in the doorway, waiting for a response. Chuck stepped between them, facing Sarah.

"We read her in."

Sarah could not get her mind to work. "You what?'

"She came back with the picture. She was suspicious. Of you, of us, of Casey. Beckman gave it the ok. But Graham doesn't know." The words spilled out of Chuck without audible punctuation or attempt to get the timeline straight. "She knows about June Thorne and the Intersect and...well, _everything_. Devon too."

Ellie pushed her brother gently aside, keeping her gaze focused on Sarah. "Chuck, give us a minute."

"Um...ok?" He looked pleadingly at Sarah.

"It's ok, Chuck." She gestured her acquiescence. Chuck backed from the room reluctantly. Ellie shut the door when he reached the hallway.

Sarah had no idea what to expect. This was another eventuality, like Josephine Pollihue, that she had not seen coming.

Ellie sat down in Chuck's desk chair and motioned for Sarah to sit on the bed.

Ellie drummed her fingers on the desktop and twisted her lips to one side. She looked at Sarah as someone might look at a painting at a museum.

"So...CIA, huh?"

"Yes."

"And for a long time."

"A long time."

"You are good at your job." Ellie's tone was as flat as her look. Flatter, maybe.

"I...I guess."

"You are a professional liar," Ellie stated it as an undeniable fact. She waited again for Sarah to respond.

"Yes. All spies are liars." Sarah kept any defensiveness out of her tone. It was the truth, after all, even if being a spy and saying it was paradoxical. _The next thing that I say will be true; the last thing I said was false._

"Why are you here?"

Sarah had nowhere to hide. She was committed. She really was. "Because I'm in love with your brother."

"You say that like it's news."

"It isn't?"

Ellie shook her head hard. "No, Agent Walker, it isn't. I've known since almost the beginning. I'm pretty sure the only two who didn't know were the principals. You, Chuck. I know. Casey knows. Hell, _Morgan_ knows, I'm pretty sure. And I don't mean we believe the cover. I mean, we know it really wasn't a cover. Even though we didn't know it was a cover. I mean..." Ellie grimaced and shook her head. "How the hell do you keep all the lies straight?"

Sarah dropped her gaze to the floor. "It helps to give up on anything being true. At least true about yourself."

Ellie drummed her fingers more forcefully. "And, after hearing you say that, I am supposed to believe you when you say you love my brother?"

"But...Ellie...You just said you know I love him."

"Slow down, Sarah. I'm not exploring my mind at the moment, I'm exploring yours. Why do you think _I should believe what you_ _say_? I know you love my brother, but not as the result of believing anything you told me. Everything you told me since you first came to Burbank has been, more or less, lies. So, why should I believe what you say now?"

"Because...because your brother has made me see that I had to change."

"How?" Ellie leaned forward in her chair. The drum roll of her fingers stopped.

"I made him a promise that I wanted to keep." Sarah was twisting her hand in the bedspread.

"Did you keep it?"

Sarah's voice shrank in size. It was very small when she answered. "No. I broke my promise. I told him he could trust me...and I ran."

Ellie leaned forward even farther. "And you ran by _yourself_?"

"Not exactly. I ran...with Bryce Larkin. But not _with_ him."

"Bryce Larkin. The man who ruined Chuck's life, stole his high-heeled bitch of a former girlfriend. _That_ Bryce Larkin?"

Sarah just sat there.

"And you left my brother in Burbank, with a top-secret government computer in his head. And you left an empty spot behind you into which June Thorne," Ellie's look became threatening, "purple ribboned her way? You left the 'man you love' to that fate? And I am supposed to believe what you say?"

Sarah was ashamed, mortified. But she started to get mad. "But, Ellie, you said that you know I love your brother. How do you understand what I did?"

Ellie sat back. A small grin appeared on her face. "Sarah, there's one person you lie to best, and that's you. Why did you run?"

Sarah sat and untwisted the bedspread. It took a minute. "Because I love your brother…"

"And you recognize how twisty that sounds?"

Sarah gave a defeated shrug. "Yes, I do."

The grin had not left Ellie's face and now it grew larger. "Sarah, you made a mistake. A big one. And I am _not_ happy about it. Or about what led up to it, the lying, the deceit. You have things to prove to me. To Chuck. But not to me or even Chuck so much as to you. I can forgive you and I will someday. Chuck can forgive you and he will someday. Give us both some time. We're Bartowskis, we recover. But you need to forgive yourself too. Remember the wise words of one of the great philosophers of our time: _Love makes you do the wacky."_

Now Sarah grinned. She knew that one. " _Buffy?_ Buffy Summers?"

Ellie laughed. "Buffy _Anne_ Summers. But no, I think maybe it was Willow Rosenberg. Although...maybe Buffy said it too. Only Chuck and Morgan keep all this stuff straight….By the way, Sarah, what _is_ your name?"

ooOoo

Chuck came into his room, a piece at a time, starting with his head. His room had gotten quiet and he was worried. He had stood in the hallway, singing to himself under his breath but loud enough to keep himself from overhearing. But eventually, he could not hear anything to keep himself from overhearing.

In his room, Ellie was leaning forward as was Sarah. They were whispering together. When Sarah saw him, she sat back and blushed. Ellie then noticed him. She got up and walked towards the door. "Gotta get to work. I'm going to be late." She touched Chuck's arm as she passed. "Behave." And she was gone.

"So, um...good talk?"

Sarah nodded. "I survived it." She brightened. "And, yes, good talk."

"Sit down, Chuck. Tell me about June Thorne. Start at the beginning." She glanced at her watch as Chuck sat down. There was time.

* * *

 **A/N2** A short chapter but pivotal. I end it here to give us all a chance to catch our breath. Things begin at just this point when the next chapter commences.

We are about to end the second arc of the story. Two more chapters in the second arc, I think. (There are, as I mentioned in an earlier chapter, _three arcs_ to the story. _Grace Abandoned, Look Homeward, Angel_ and _Heaven-Fallen_.) Tune in next time for Chapter 12, "Watch Your Step". Chuck and Sarah look toward a problematic future. Chuck faces the threat of file days. Casey tries to have a heart to heart (?) with June. Graham gets good news. The Fulcrum agent takes a serious interest in the Bartowskis.

I don't normally annotate or footnote chapters despite the fact that chapters are rife with references and allusions and echoes. Some of you have mentioned ones you've noticed your reviews.

I will mention that this chapter takes its title from a Go-Betweens song, off their amazing album _16 Lovers Lane_ , maybe the greatest album-length study of love ever recorded. The epigraph of the chapter is from a song off Elvis Costello's _Trust_ , an album that I have thematized in the story in a variety of different ways. It will be present until the very end.

The line "The next thing that I say will be true…" is from a Devo song. The related line "When I said that I was lying I might have been lying" is from Elvis Costello's "The Imposter" (from the album _Get Happy!_ ). (That line is crucial to the story.) I've also been playing with the logical paradox sometimes known as The Liar, "This sentence is false", and a related paradox from antiquity, The Cretan, "All Cretans are liars" (spoken by a Cretan).


	13. Chapter 12: Watch Your Step

**A/N1** More story.

Please keep in touch. The reviews and PMs sustain me. Keeping this going while keeping a full-time professor gig going is real work. Knowing you are out there and reading, reacting, keeps me scribbling away.

Don't own _Chuck._

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

* * *

CHAPTER TWELVE

 _Watch Your Step_

* * *

Watch who's knocking on your front door  
Now you know that they're watching  
What are you waiting for?  
Think you're young and original  
Get out before  
They get to watch your step  
-Elvis Costello, _Watch Your Step_

* * *

Trying not to exaggerate, Chuck told Sarah about June, from her arrival to the present. Sarah listened closely, asking a few questions. Mostly, she seemed focused on Chuck's face and voice.

"Do you know her, Sarah?" Chuck asked this as he finished up, after mentioning that he would almost certainly see June when he showed up for his Buy More shift.

"No, not personally. I know of her. In fact, I've learned a lot more about her in the past day or so."

"Really? How?" Chuck asked simply out of curiosity. He clearly was not anticipating her answer.

"Bryce."

Chuck nodded absently. Then he turned to her, fully present. "Wait. Bryce? Did he work with her at some point or know her at the Farm?"

ooOoo

"He knew her." Sarah stopped...and let Chuck realize that she had.

"Oh. Oh!" Chuck's eyes got big. "I thought she was just jealous of you, you know, professionally. Not personally. She was...um….with Bryce before you?"

"No...not before."

Chuck raised his eyebrows. "Geez, I know Bryce...um...gets around, but how could he have been with her after you, I mean he was taken to be rogue and killed and stuff…"

"No...not after."

Chuck froze. "During?" The shock on his face was unselfconscious, total. _My Chuck._

Sarah answered. "Yes. I guess I suspected, sort of. But Chuck, Bryce and I, we never were anything... _official_...except the Andersons…" She glanced away from him.

"But you...kissed him. Right about there." He pointed his foot to a spot on the floor.

She blushed, frowned. "I know. Temporary insanity." Then she took Chuck's hand and kissed his lips tenderly, careful of the damage she had done. To his lip. To him. "Or maybe _not so temporary_ , because here I am, _still crazy_...about you. You, Chuck. Not him. Not Bryce. He kissed me and I kissed him back. Reflex, habit," She shrugged, frustrated with herself, "but mainly it was about you, about our kiss…" She was not sure she could explain. "I was so afraid. I had shown you how I felt about you. Shown _me_ how I felt about you. I had ruined the cover."

Chuck pondered what she had said. He was quiet for a long time. "I get it, Sarah. It's like when I kissed Lou." It was his turn to blush and frown, " I wanted to kiss you but I never thought it would happen...I was so disappointed that I told myself a lie and believed it: that I wanted her, that I could make a commitment to her. I wanted something...real."

Sarah sat and decided to say more. He needed her words; she needed to say them. "And I...God help me, Chuck, I needed something _unreal_. Because I didn't know what to do with something real. Like you, only worse: I was only familiar with the concept of faking it."

"So you and Bryce were never..."

She made herself face him. "Never what, Chuck?"

"...In love?"

"No, Chuck. I know that now. Bryce and I had...something, but we never had, never could have had...everything." She squeezed Chuck's hand. "It was what it was. More than I had ever had with anyone else," she made sure he could see into her eyes, "but not all that I dreamed of…Not you, not this."

"But you were at his funeral. You cried." Chuck wasn't making an accusation. He was thinking aloud.

"Yes, I was. I did. And you were there in your father's suit, even believing of Bryce what you did."

Considering that, Chuck nodded. "I was."

"Chuck?"

"Yeah?"

She pulled him to her. "Can we stop talking about Bryce now? I can think of other things we could be doing. You have to leave soon. I have a flight to catch. I don't know when we'll have the chance to be together, alone, again. So, kiss me, Chuck."

She put her lips to his and he did as she asked. Over and over.

ooOoo

"I have to go, Sarah. Buy More expects me. June expects me." They were wrapped around each other on his bed, still fully clothed. She unwrapped herself from him and stood.

"Right. The real world. The unreal real world. We have to go back to it." I'm so _tired of the unreal world._

He stood up and hugged her. "But everything's different now, the same but totally different. Sucky but wonderful." He smiled bravely at her.

"I promise, Chuck," she faltered at 'promise' but he looked at her, encouraging her to go on, to leave the word in place, "I promise it's going to happen, Chuck. Me and you. _All_ of it. We're going to be together." She put her hand on his face. "I love you. You are my first priority now. Us."

"I love you too, Sarah." He grabbed his Nerd Herd uniform hanging from his closet door. "I should probably change in the bathroom…"

"Probably," Sarah smirked. "No, surely. I can't keep from...well, not for much longer, Chuck." She started re-adjusting her blouse, closing buttons. He left and she stretched back out on his bed, the scent of him suffusing her, all around her. A few minutes later, ready for work, he came back. He grabbed her and kissed her with so much passion her eyes rolled back into her head and her hips came up, off the bed, her body straining to find his. He ran his hand down her side, resting his hand against the swell of her hip. "Text me." There was a glint in his eye.

She gave him a naughty smile. "Do you think you could stand it ?"

"I'll take my chances, love. Lock up when you leave." He left the room and she heard the apartment door open and closed. He was gone.

 _Love._ She felt as happy as she had ever been. And as sad. She was determined to be with him. The path from here to there was dark, though. She sat up and thought of June. She still had time. Maybe she could get to her. Find her and get through to her. Or just go through her. Sarah's anger returned.

As Sarah shut the apartment door, she heard a voice behind her. Casey.

ooOoo

Casey had never seen Walker look like she did coming out of the apartment. Disheveled, worried and yet somehow elated.

"Walker. How'd it go with the kid?"

She did not turn around but she took her hand from the door. Facing away from him, she answered. "Good, Casey." She paused before she continued. "How did you know? I didn't ask on the phone."

Casey cleared his throat. "Followed you that first night, after everything. After we saved Stanfield."

"You were at the beach?"

"Yes." His tone was slightly apologetic.

"You could have told Graham and Beckman. Told them I was compromised." She huffed. "You could have told _me_."

"Tried. Besides, you knew. You just refused to know what you knew. Hard to tell someone what they know but refuse to know."

Her head dropped. "Another paradox. "Ellie told me I lie best to myself."

Casey grunted. "Ellie's smart."

"I know. She's right."

"The kid looked happy when he left, but...not too happy." Casey let the comment hang.

Sarah finally turned to face Casey. "No, not too happy. I _couldn't_ , not with everything so up in the air. Not with him still hurting and angry. I have to fix that somehow, but not...not like _that_. That's for when everything is right, not to mask things that are still wrong. He understood."

"Hurting, angry, yeah. But he left here whistling. You know that kid would die for you, Walker."

She nodded her head one time, smiled weakly. "I would for him too. I have to protect him."

"Don't do it, Walker. Don't." Casey extended one hand, made a warding gesture.

"Don't _what?"_

"Don't talk to June. I know that's what you are planning. She already hates you and resents the kid because he has feelings for you. If she knows you were here...If you lean on her...He will pay the price. A pound of flesh. Maybe more. She's already hurting him. Forcing flashes in bunches. Bartowski's been chewing aspirin like Chiclets."

Sarah's anger spiked, but she fought it back. She wanted to protect Chuck, fend June off. But she recognized the wisdom in what Casey said. She had recognized it all along, despite allowing herself to fantasize about slapping Thorne silly. Sillier.

"Look, Sarah, I will talk to her. I will lean on her. I've already interposed myself between her and Chuck. It won't be a new thing. I'll keep Chuck upright. Trust me."

At Casey's final words, Sarah frowned darkly. "I've not been doing so well with trust, John. Not trusting, not being trusted."

Casey shrugged. "Then do better, Sarah." He said it like it was the simplest, most obvious thing in the world.

He extended his hand. Sarah shook it and then pulled him to her for a very clumsy hug. He squeezed her for a split second, then started toward his car. Sarah headed for her rental. Thorne's day was coming. But it wouldn't be today. Sarah had a plane to catch. _I don't want to go, Chuck._ She pictured the final scene of _Casablanca_ and felt her eyes mist over.

ooOoo

Chuck got to the Buy More lot and parked the Herder in its dedicated spot. He sighed, forced himself out of the car, across the pavement. and into the Wienerlicious. Thorne was standing over the deep fryer. Corn dogs were blackening and smoke was rising, making the atmosphere toxic. Chuck coughed and Thorne wheeled around.

"Inters...Bartowski. It's about damn time." Thorne was pissed. Chuck was not sure why, except that it did seem to be her baseline condition. SNAPO. Situation Normal All Pissed Off.

"I've been waiting. I had to talk to your slow-witted, bearded friend. Did you adopt him from some kind of _institution?"_

"No, but his parents found him in a dumpster."

Thorne grew angrier. "I want to make sure you don't push yourself too hard doing repairs tonight. I need you at full strength tomorrow. I want to see what you can do with files when you are fresh and ready." She strolled over to him in the thinning smoke, a scene from Dante. She got near him and she leaned into him, put one finger out and traced his jawline. She smiled. But then she sniffed. Not the smoky air. Chuck. She sniffed him. Her eyes went wild for a second, but then he saw uncertainty replace anger. "What have you been doing this afternoon, Chuck?" She asked so innocently, but her hands were balled into tight fists, her knuckles white.

"Um...nothing. Hanging out with my sister." Chuck thought fast. "I was helping her throw out some old cosmetics."

The answer seemed to mollify Thorne. Mostly. It did not hurt that the fryer alarm began to sound too. She scurried back to it, grabbed a towel to protect her hand from the heat, and clicked it off. Two corn dogs floated in the darkling grease, crisped almost beyond recognition, coal black. Thorne looked at them and then at Chuck, her eyes making a point. "I don't like it when things don't go as I want, Bartowski." She put a finger to her mouth, licked it, and stared at him hungrily. He was suffocating in grape jelly. "I'm expecting multiple flashes tomorrow, Chucky. I want each one to be bigger than the one before it. Someone's head should explode at the end." A pause, then an untethered giggle. She grabbed Chuck by the shoulders and spun him around. "Now, go be a Buy Moron. It's your destiny. Was there actually a time when anyone thought you had potential?"

She dismissed him. Chuck closed his eyes to blank the rage he felt. He walked out of the lingering smoke.

ooOoo

Graham heard a weak knock on his door. Without rotating in his desk chair, he called out. "Come in Susie Lou." He waited for a few seconds and then he rotated. She was standing in front of his desk. She looked a little less terrified than usual, less her field mouse self.

"We did not have an appointment," Graham stated. Susie Lou nodded. Graham was not sure if she meant _Yes, we did_ or _Yes, you are right, we didn't._ He did not really care. "So?"

Susie took a deep breath. "Good news, Director. I believe I will have a functional prototype in just another few days. I thought a particular part of the hardware was going to be a long process of trial-and-error, but I evidently guessed right the first time. It more or less works now, but I do need to go over it more and run a set of simulations."

Graham's smile was huge and genuine. Susie Lou lit up. "That, Susie Lou, is good news indeed. Such good news that I am going to increase your salary. You should see an increase in your next check."

Susie Lou's face reddened with pleasure. "Thank you, Director. Maybe now I can afford to buy a house. I've been in the same apartment since grad…"

Graham cut her off, already planning ahead. "Yes, y _es,_ I'm sure. Very nice. A house. Let me know as soon as you think we can run the first human trial. I have a subject in mind…"

A wave of concern rolled across Susie Lou's face. "I'm not sure we are ready for that. Any subject would need to be carefully chosen, given time to prepare, taught about what to expect. The Intersect puts intense pressure on the mind. It interacts in unpredictable ways with the bearers' conscience. Not just anyone will do. We might permanently damage someone…severely."

"Let me worry about the ethics of our research, Susie Lou. I just need you to build me my machine."

Susie Lou nodded. She left the room and Graham thought he could hear her mumbling to herself as she did. He shrugged. Already a better day than he had expected.

ooOoo

Max Anders watched as the Employee of the Month left the Wienerlicious and entered the Buy More. The guy certainly did not look like the Intersect, Anders thought. The guy was tall, lanky. Maybe Anders had always thought a human computer would be more squat, square, shaped more like a CPU than a light pole. Anyway, Anders had found Chuck's address. He knew Chuck would be at the store for several more hours. It was time to take a look at the Bartowski apartment.

ooOoo

Casey had been affected by his chat with Walker. He really wanted to see her and the kid succeed, make it. They had a chance at something special together. It was not going to be easy for them. He thought about his own history, his own decisions. He had never prioritized people, not in any individual sense. He had oriented himself by what he took to be his duty. He had thought when he was younger that that would keep his hands clean, his dreams bearable. It had not. He wished he had been willing to do what Walker and Bartowski were doing, risk happiness on a person instead of an abstract structure of commandments, military or clandestine. _Goddamnit. This is the problem with letting Bartowski talk to me. I start having existential spy crises. Next thing you know, I'll be wearing a beret, smoking clove cigarettes and cultivating a taste for free-form jazz. There was no end to the damage ladyfeelings could do to a man._

ooOoo

Casey eased the Crown Vic gently into a spot next to Bartowski's Herder. Looking through the windshield, Casey could see Thorne. She had propped open the door of the Wienerlicious and was waving a dish towel like a checkered flag of surrender, evidently trying to clear what was left of smoke in the restaurant. Casey gritted his teeth. It was time to give this a try. He was not optimistic.

Thorne saw Casey coming. She folded the dish towel and waited for him. "Hello, Casey. You just missed Chuck." Casey nodded. "He is doing junk surgery in the back of the Buy More. Pretty amazing. A sister who's a neurosurgeon, a possible brother-in-law who's a heart surgeon, and Bartowski replaces batteries in dead vibrators. Quite a catch for some unlucky girl. But at least her vibrators will work. She'll need them."

Casey ignored the barbs. "Whatever, Thorne. You know, you're shitting on your meal ticket. How about easing up on the kid? I know you have your 'experiments' to do, whatever it is Graham expects to find out. But why hurt the kid more than is absolutely necessary? He has done a fine job. We have done a lot of good. The kid is a patriot, doing what he is doing, bearing what he is bearing. C'mon Thorne…" _Have a heart, you soulless bitch._

"I've got my orders, Casey. And besides, we are only beginning to understand the preemptive weapon the Intersect could be. Damn Walker pampered him into nothing but a reactive one. Can't stand her, but I do feel sorry for her, nursing that sad sack for months. I bet _she_ needed new batteries…"

" _She_ was a good partner, Thorne." The implied comparison thickened the air and June stiffened. Casey ignored it. "I will not put up with much more of your crap about the kid or about Walker. You know about me, Thorne. I will only say this once. I am a dangerous man."

Thorne blinked slowly. "And I am a dangerous woman." She stopped blinking and glared. He glared back. For a moment, he thought they were going to find out who was more dangerous. But then Thorne launched into a tinkling giggle. "I won't hurt Bartowski more than is necessary, Casey. But I will hurt him exactly as much as necessary."

Casey was not sure he was going to get any more than that from her. He was not sure how much that was really. But he had tried. She at least knew now that he was willing to go the distance for the kid.

ooOoo

Clicking off the light and putting his final screwdriver back in the tool case, Chuck stretched and wiped his face with his hands. Despite June's warnings, he had pushed himself hard doing repairs. Computers made sense to him. They were predictable, controllable, lawful. His life, by comparison, was unpredictable, uncontrollable and chaotic. He was in love with a woman beyond belief. But she was also beyond reach. On her way back to New Orleans. Chuck twisted his wrist and looked at his watch. _Back_ in New Orleans now, likely. Soon, anyway. The pain of her leaving was counterbalanced by the joy she had caused him when she told him she loved him. Still, she told him and then she was gone. Love and absence: they were a pair in Chuck's universe. Except for Ellie. Ellie was love and presence.

He headed out of the store, wondering what Ellie and Sarah had talked about. Why had Sarah blushed when he stuck his head in the room? Maybe he could get her to tell him via text. It was no big deal. He was just curious. He knew so little about her, but he knew her. He was sure he did. She had been hiding for a long time, but she had come into view for him.

Chuck hit the button to unlock the Herder. It made the familiar double-squeak and its lights flashed. He climbed in, folding himself as always in order to fit. He put on his seatbelt, started the car and exited the parking lot.

He clicked the radio, the New Wave station, now, Chuck realized, an oldies station with a misfit name. Marshall Crenshaw's "Someday, Someway" came on. Chuck started drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel, keeping time with the poppy tune, singing along. The song lifted his spirits; it made him think of Sarah, a happy ache. Her lips against his ear, saying that she loved him.

He looked into the rearview mirror. He had an oddball feeling. He did not recall seeing the rectangular headlights when he had glanced in the mirror a couple of times earlier, and yet he now thought maybe he had.

At the next intersection, he delayed his right-hand turn until the last possible moment. The car he had seen squealed through a turn in the same direction. Chuck felt vulnerable and exposed. He grabbed his phone to call Casey, but it fell from his hand and in between the seats of the Herder. He tried to fish it out, but the narrow opening was making it hard, especially while trying to drive.

He gave it up for the moment and gave his full attention to Herder and the tail. He decided the best plan was to head home. Casey did not have a Buy More shift; he would almost certainly be in his apartment. If Chuck could get there, he would be able to get Casey's help.

Chuck sped on, doing his best to increase the distance between the Herder and the tail. He needed to get to the apartment parking lot in time to get to Casey's. He squealed into the lot. Chuck clicked his belt, leaped from the car. He sprinted for Casey's. But he quickly realized the apartment was dark. The Crown Vic had not been in its normal space. _Casey is not here!_ Icy certainty gripped Chuck. He veered toward his apartment, reaching into his pocket to find his key. He had it out before he got to the door. He missed the keyhole on his first try, on his second. He heard a car door slam. Finally, his key went into the lock and he twisted it hard. Turned it too hard. The key broke off in the lock. _Shit, shit, shit._

"Chuck Bartowski?" Chuck let the part of the key in his hand drop to the ground. It sounded like a penny bouncing on the concrete. Ping, ping, ping.

"Employee of the Month?"

Chuck rotated slowly toward the voice. A man stood next to the fountain, holding a piece of paper, a photograph, in one hand, and a silenced pistol in the other. Chuck flashed: Max Anders, former Marine, now CIA. "I would say you _have_ something I want, Mr. Bartowski, except I think you _are_ what I want. It's a thrill to meet the Intersect."

Chuck felt his stomach drop. His vision dimmed as if Burbank had suffered an eclipse.

"You should thank your sister. I would never have figured it out if it weren't for her notebook, full of theories about what the Intersect might really be, how it might really work. I've got that notebook in the car. She hid it well but I found it. Fulcrum will be very happy to have it. It'll be like getting the Intersect with an instruction manual." The man glanced at Chuck. "Once we have Ellie too, you should be very eager to cooperate with us." Anders reacted to something, whipped around.

There was a muffled pop. Chuck heard his sister's name reverberate in his mind. Then he saw the back of Ander's head cough red into the water of the fountain. Anders fell backward into the pinkening water. From the dark distance, June Thorne stalked toward the fountain, her gun held in two extended hands, a thin serpent of smoke rising, writhing from its barrel.

* * *

 **A/N2** June to the...rescue? Circles are tightening. Tune in next time for more in Chapter 13, "Reel Around the Fountain". The aftermath of the courtyard events. Sarah and Bryce have a talk. Bryce gets close to Garland. Graham makes decisions. Beckman closes in on Graham.


	14. Chapter 13: Reel Around the Fountain

**A/N1** Greetings from Pensacola, the beach. More story.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the responses. Please keep them coming!

Don't own _Chuck._

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

* * *

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 _Reel Around the Fountain_

* * *

It's time the tale were told  
Of how you took a child  
And you made him old  
You made him old  
-The Smiths, _Reel Around the Fountain_

* * *

Chuck stood still, flash-frozen. Anders' body was mostly in the fountain, the water still sloshing around, although Anders' ankles and feet were sticking out of the fountain, propped on the edge, pointing skyward like his sightless eyes. He had on argyle socks.

Thorne shoved her pistol in the bag hanging from her shoulder and dug out a phone.

"June Thorne. Cleaners needed. Echo Park." She gave the address. "Get here fast." She ended the call.

Chuck was still glacial, in and out. His vision dimmed, then brightened, dimmed and brightened. He heard a noise. Shoes slapping pavement. Casey. He was running toward them, the Crown Vic's engine running behind him, the headlights on, showing him, a running man, in silhouette. The driver's side door was open, the dome light glowing weakly.

"What the fuck?" Thorne calmly faced Casey; she was apparently unfazed by anything that had happened, or that was happening, around her. She was back on the phone.

"Don't know. Saw the man leave, tailing the asset. Arrived at Echo Park. The man had a gun. Got here just in time. He was about to capture the Intersect, Director." Graham. She was now talking to Graham. _Shit all around. Just...shit._ As Thorne talked, she reached into the bloody water and fished out Anders' gun. She put it down carefully beside one of his feet.

Casey hustled to Chuck. "You're ok?"

Chuck began to unfreeze. He looked himself over before he nodded. He grabbed Casey's hand. "In the guy's car, a notebook. Get it. We can't let June find it, Casey." June was still talking on the phone, still talking to Graham. Casey glanced at her; she was not watching them. He nodded to Chuck and started toward his car. As he passed June, Casey gestured at his car. She looked at it and went on with her conversation, turning back to Ander's corpse. Chuck watched as she put her hands back in the water and rifled through Anders' pockets, but she found nothing. Shifting attention, Chuck peered out into the lot. Casey got to his car then ducked and scooted to Anders'. He was in and out in a second. Back at the Crown Vic, he put something inside just after turning off the headlights and just before shutting down the engine. He walked back to the fountain.

ooOoo

Sarah watched the elevator numbers click to eleven, hating each one. She got out. Each step seemed harder to take than the last. Each floor, each step took her farther from Chuck. Each floor, each step returned her to her cover assignment, trapped her more completely.

Unlocking the door, sighing sadly, she went inside. _Damn. Lights are on!_

Bryce was seated on the couch, glaring at her. He had his legs crossed and had the Chuck Taylors on. Sarah bit the inside of her lower lip. _Chuck!_

"Where the hell did you go, Sarah? I expected you back _hours_ ago. You never answered your phone." _True. I did not answer your calls._ Bryce's voice would have driven away the enveloping seductive sweetness of Chuck's kisses and she had wanted to linger in that as long as she could.

She shrugged. "Forgot my charger. My phone died."

Bryce gave her a suspicious look. She glanced at his shoes and he noticed. A light clicked on in his eyes. His brows went up.

"You!" He pointed at her but forgot to fully extend his finger, so it was more like he half-pointed. "You are the one who keeps hiding my shoes from me. Putting them under the bed."

Sarah gave him nothing but a flat glance in response. But he was growing more certain. "I know it. It was you. I gave some poor guy in housekeeping a dressing-down, but it was _you_."

Sarah was tired. She was brokenhearted about leaving Chuck, leaving him without everything between them more stable and settled. Bryce's accusation went through her. The shoes ( _Those goddamn shoes!_ ) made her crazy.

"Why the hell are _you_ doing wearing those? Like they match your hundred-dollar t-shirts or your designer jeans. Or your goddamn Omega Seamaster watch! Your whole 007 ensemble! Except that yours is masterminded by GQ, not Q."

Bryce was stunned. He had not expected to get the tongue-lashing, he expected to give it. He glanced at the Omega on his wrist a little self-consciously.

"I can wear whatever I damn well please. I saw Chuck wearing these Chucks and I…Wait. Huh-uh. Q? Bond?"

Bryce stopped. Just stopped. Sarah closed her eyes. She could hear it; there was no need to watch. _Incoming!_

"Chuck. It's been Chuck all along. Chuck! I sent him the Intersect and sent him you... and you...you fell for Chuck Bartowski." Bryce's voice was a complete blend of anger and befuddlement. "And you've been to _Burbank_. You've been to see Chuck."

Sarah's first instinct was to deny it. And then she thought of Chuck. She had denied him the first time after the kiss, then she denied him a second time when she ran. She would not deny him now. Not a third time. She was not ashamed. Not in the least. The reverse. _Chuck Bartowski_ loved her. Chuck Bartowski, a man in full. The only one she had ever known. A man out of myth. ( _Even if he doesn't know these things about himself. But I will teach him.)_ "Yes, Bryce. I went to Chuck. I left him...in a mess. I needed to talk to him. You told me you did not need me as a backup today, so I don't know what you are so upset about." She stopped, dropped the intensity of her voice. "But yes, Bryce, Chuck and I, we're together. Exclusively." Bryce dropped his head at that word.

ooOoo

Chuck was still watching the reel around the fountain. June finished on the phone. She put it in her bag. Looking around the courtyard, she checked to make sure no one was around. Chuck looked too. No one was. It was typically quiet there at the time of the night. June marched to Chuck and handed him her bag. He noticed for the first time it was hot pink. He took it and stood there with it in his hands. She motioned to Casey and each one of them grabbed a foot and they pulled Anders from the fountain and drug him over to the bushes, shoving him abruptly inside. They left a trail of bloody water.

The phone in June's bag went off and she came skipping over. She reached into the bag while leaving it in Chuck's hands. The cleaning team. They were on their way. June told them where the body was hidden. "Eight minutes, right."

She dropped the phone back into the bag but still left Chuck holding the bag. She returned to the fountain and got Anders' gun. Holding it by pinching the handle, she came back to Chuck and dropped Ander's gun into her bag too. Finally, she took the bag from Chuck, slinging it over her shoulder.

Her phone rang again. She dug it out. The whole scene was becoming a macabre comedy skit. "Yes, sir?" She listened closely. "Give us just a few minutes."

June dropped the phone in her bag. She turned to Casey, who had been standing watching the whole routine wordlessly. "Director Graham wants an immediate conference in your place." With that, she started toward Casey's door.

Casey looked at Chuck and shrugged warily. Chuck glanced at the bushes obscuring Anders. Because Chuck knew where to look, he could make out one argyle sock through the heavy leaves. A man usually didn't choose clothes to die in.

Inside Casey's, the three of them gathered and waited for Graham to call. No one spoke. The atmosphere in Casey's apartment was syrupy. Thick and amber and slow-moving. No one made eye contact with anyone else. Chuck knew things had taken a very bad turn. He tried to get his thoughts to pick up speed, return to his full control. Ever since Anders' head had...well, ever since then….

Graham's face appeared on the monitor. "I will dispense with pleasantries."

Chuck wondered when Graham had ever offered any. Hard to dispense with what was never present.

"I have chosen to let General Beckman sleep; I will inform her of matters in the morning."

Chuck thought he heard a nearly silent curse from Casey.

Graham went on, cold and insistent, almost automated. "Intersect, did you flash on the man June shot?"

Chuck stood gripped by the vise of circumstance. Screws tightening. "Yes, His name is Max Anders. Fulcrum." Chuck felt like he had pronounced his own sentence, his own doom.

"Did he say anything to you?"

Chuck's mind finally and immediately came fully back online; it began to whir. _Protect Ellie._ "Yes, he told me that Fulcrum would be overjoyed by what he had discovered when he reported it to them. _Would be,_ not _was_. He clearly had not told them about me yet. I don't...I don't think he was sure about me, just suspicious." Chuck felt his teeth clicking as he lied through them. He hated the taste of false words; they tasted like rotten peaches.

"Graham shifted to Thorne. "Did you hear any of the conversation?" Thorne shook her head. "No, I saw the gun and I ended the threat." Simple, clear.

Graham looked at each of them in turn, thinking. "Mr. Bartowski, perhaps this Anders did not contact Fulcrum, but I cannot risk the Intersect. You are going in a hole. Agent Thorne, prepare the Intersect to be bunkered."

Chuck's mind was still whirring, and now his heartbeat was a series of barely-controlled explosions. Thorne started to turn to him and Chuck heard someone respond to Graham, hatefully.

"No, Langston, the Intersect is not going in a hole." The respondent was Chuck.

Thorne gasped. Casey stiffened. Graham's eyes became embers.

"What did you just say to _me_?"

"I said, Langston, that the Intersect is not going in a hole. The Intersect will not be bunkered."

"And you get a say in this, why? I own you." Graham's voice was all jagged edges.

"You know, Langston," Chuck was enjoying saying the name; adrenaline was coursing through him, "You ever asked me a question you should have asked me a long time ago. A very important question...

"And what question is that?" More jagged edges.

"You never asked me if you were in the Intersect...because you are. Extensively."

Graham jerked in his chair like it was electrified. "That cannot be true. We built the program. We put the information in."

"Well, I think more got put in than you bargained for. Remember, the Intersect doesn't just retrieve pre-existing data; it finds patterns, 'sees' things in the data that no one puts there. It does not just report on the data. It creates data from the existing data. You ought to be able to understand it when I put it that way. I know all sorts of things about you, Langston, patterns in the data, patterns, Langston, patterns everywhere. Disturbing patterns. Things you do not want anyone to know. I have written those things down and I have made sure that they are in the hands of people who will release the information if something happens to me or if I disappear. Because you see, Langston, the first pattern the Intersect recognized is the pattern of your abuse of power. You are like a Rorschach inkblot of an asshole."

The room was quiet. Outer space quiet. Soundless. Graham stared at Chuck, trying to figure it out, understand. At last, he spoke, chuckling as he did. "You are lying, Intersect. You know nothing."

Chuck looked at Casey. Casey was wiggling a finger that neither Graham nor June could see, urging Chuck on. June was watching Graham and Chuck and listening to it all, enjoying it. _She's a loon. She is...a loon. And Graham sent her here._

And then Chuck saw how to flesh out his gambit. A leap of intuition. "Let me start with a small thing, but one that would already ruin your career. I know that you have falsified CIA personnel records for years, Langston. Altering or suppressing reports so that you could manipulate agents or the Agency itself." Graham's face threatened to implode. Chuck had nailed the landing on that leap of intuition. _The crowd claps in approval._

Graham sputtered. "You can't prove anything. You have nothing."

Chuck stretched to his full height. Casey mouthed the words. 'We can prove it.'

Chuck pushed ahead. "I can prove it, and more. Don't test me, Director. You wanted the Intersect to be proactive…"

Thorne's enjoyment diminished. Graham slumped in his chair. It was barely noticeable, but he had. Graham was studying what Chuck had said.

"If I leave you above ground, Intersect, it will be with Thorne at your side 24/7. Explain that as you wish, but I want her with you at all times. I will put rotating security teams in place at the apartment complex and at the Buy More. They will blend in, but they will be there. Do you understand?"

Chuck knew that this was at best a stalemate. And unstable, unlikely to last. But he needed time to come up with a better plan. It was not like Graham did not hate him already.

"I understand. I will go on doing my job...and you will go on doing yours...Langston." Chuck could not help himself; he had to say the name one more time. The monitor went black. _Blackmail. I just committed blackmail._ Chuck's adrenaline decreased. His stomach clenched.

June turned to Chuck, blinking with a begrudging respect. "That was clever but ultimately stupid. Grab some things. I will be waiting in the Jeep." She left the apartment.

Casey shook his head and pursed his lips. "So, you thought that up on the fly?" Chuck nodded. "The patterns, the information written down. All fiction, right." Chuck nodded again. "And the personnel thing? An inspired guess?"

"Yeah, but, I mean, Thorne was standing right there. More like an inference. There's no way she should have been here at all, ever. There's no way she should have her job. She should be in an institution. Do we really have proof, Casey?"

Casey smiled. "Believe it or not, we do. I sent it to Beckman earlier this evening. But she can't have done anything with it yet." He grabbed Chuck by the shoulder, grinning at Chuck and shaking him gently. " _Balls out, kid. Balls out._ But this cease-fire can't last, you know."

"I know," Chuck conceded, "but at least I'm still above ground."

"What's in the notebook?"

"Ellie's Intersect work. She's been trying to piece how it works together. Understand it. Anders found it. He was going to take her too, Casey. Get it back to her. Make her understand how real all this is, how far people like June and Fulcrum are prepared to go. But don't tell her about the fountain. She loves that fountain."

Casey nodded. "Done. Well, Thorne turned out to be good for something. But I don't envy you now, up-close and personal with her. That's some shit I would not want to be up in, if you know what I mean. Goddamnit."

Chuck grimaced.

"Did Anders say that he hadn't yet contacted Fulcrum?" Casey asked.

Chuck shook his head. "No, my gut tells me he hadn't, but he didn't actually say it. And if he found me…."

"...Someone else could find you. We'll have to make sure it doesn't happen." Casey gave Chuck a long look. "That was one tall glass of lies with a stiff chaser of blackmail you served to Graham."

Chuck returned the look. He gave Casey an unenthusiastic smile. "Yay, me."

Casey grabbed Chuck's shoulder again. "Yay, team."

ooOoo

Graham snapped his pricey fountain pen in two. He had not thought before he did it. Now he had blue ink all over his hands and on his desk. Did he believe Bartowski? No, not really. But it was...just possible. And when did he grow a backbone? That by itself carried the day. Toe-to-toe with the CIA Director. Something had changed. Maybe Bartowski did know something. Graham was not much worried. Not too much. This would all end soon anyway, and it would end, as it had always been going to end, with Chuck Bartowski below ground.

Then Graham had a thought. It was not his original plan, not quite, but it might be a better variation. Maybe he could kill all the birds with one stone. After wiping his hands, he picked up his phone and made a call. It was going to be a long night.

ooOoo

"Chuck Bartowski!" Bryce said the name as a heavy sigh, neither believing nor disbelieving, but testing it. "So...that's what's been going on?" Bryce shot her a glance. "But why leave with me? I mean, c'mon, Sarah, I admit I've made some decisions that...hurt Chuck, but you leaving? He was obviously crazy about you…"

Sarah sat down heavily in one of the chairs. "I screwed up. But I am trying to make it up to him. I am going to make it up to him."

"How? By being here with me?"

"No, Bryce. I don't have any choice now but to be here. But I went to Burbank to say how I feel."

"And did you? Because the talking-about-your-feelings thing was never your...thing."

"So you've said. And no, it wasn't." She recalled Chuck's bloody lip. "Still not my wheelhouse. But I did say it, I managed to say it."

Bryce didn't ask about the _it._ He looked at his shoes. "Good for you, Sarah." On Bryce's face, Sarah saw friendship fighting a skirmish with jealousy. "And good for Chuck."

Sarah did not want to keep talking about this with Bryce, so she asked how the day went with Garland and her financier. Bryce seemed happy to change topics too. "Well. It went well. By the end of the day, the guy was talking to me in veiled ways about 'even bigger opportunities'. Garland's getting more intent on...adding me to her collection. You and I are supposed to have dinner there again tomorrow night. I have a feeling tomorrow night may be the beginning of our entry into Fulcrum."

Sarah did not ask to know exactly what that meant. "Ok." She stood up. "I'm going to get a shower." She went to gather her things. Bryce sighed. He started to unlace his shoes.

ooOoo

After Casey helped him get the apartment door open, Chuck went inside. He grabbed some clothes and toiletries and shoved them in a bag. Round the clock with Thorne. The bunker sounded more attractive, frankly. Way more attractive. He scribbled Ellie a note; he'd have Casey stop by to talk to her.

Fulcrum at his door. Sarah in New Orleans. Thorne as a constant companion. His life was completely out of control. More lies and now blackmail.

As he zipped his bag, he noticed something, looked closer: a strand of long blonde hair on his pillow. He reached out and picked it up carefully. With his right hand, he wound it around the index finger of his left. He pulled the circlet off his finger. He walked to his desk and dug around in the random junk that had accumulated in the top drawer. There! A tiny box with a clear plastic top. It had been part of the packaging for some game Chuck bought long ago. He'd liked it and kept it. He put the circlet carefully in the little box and then put the box in the side pocket of his bag. Maybe it was silly, but having found it made him feel better. A lot better. The end of the day had been...suboptimal. But the midday made it the greatest day of his life. Sarah Walker loved him. He would climb out of this mess and back to her. He knew that he was more of a damsel in distress and Sarah the knight errant, but still: that circlet of her hair seemed like his Lady's Favor. He sallied forth to face the Dragon in Her Lair: June was waiting, the Jeep running.

ooOoo

Casey saw Chuck get in the Jeep. The Cleaners had come and gone. He picked up the phone. Beckman needed to know all of this. If she had a play, it was about time to use it. The kid dug himself out of a hole with quick thinking and unexpected bravado. But Graham would not accept the situation. _No way in hell._ He already had it in for Bartowski. Tonight would make it worse. But Casey knew that Graham had to take the threat Bartowski made seriously. The kid's proven record of unpredictability worked in his favor and against Graham. Graham had to wonder if the kid had seen patterns. Everyone but the kid seemed to forget half the time that the Intersect was not just some kind of glorified recording device; it had records in it, of course, vast records, but it could 'see' things in those records. The kid was right to tweak Graham with 'proactive'. Graham was the one whining that the Intersect wasn't being used preemptively. Well, it had been tonight, sort of, anyway. Casey wished the kid luck as he watched the Jeep leave.

Casey dialed the number. Beckman answered. "General, we have a situation here…Really, and the plan is underway? Excellent. But we need to move quickly."

* * *

 **A/N2** This chapter actually is the end of the second arc, the _Look Homeward, Angel_ arc. I decided the next chapter, Chapter 14 "Double Agent" works best as the start of the final arc, the _Heaven-Fallen_ arc. Drop me a line and let me hear from you. More soon. Don't forget to tune in.


	15. Chapter 14: Double Agent

**A/N1** The beach has me moving a little slowly. Add in a sinus infection...and no promises about daily updates for a while. Thanks, thanks, thanks for the reviews and all the PMs.

As is often true for me when arcs begin, some more context and backstory. Our players reconsider their places on the board. Matters become clearer. Lots of POV-with all that implies.

Keep responding, please. It's so much fun writing to an audience you know is out there. I'm about to get caught up on responses to you.

Don't own _Chuck._

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

* * *

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

 _Double Agent_

* * *

"I say now: every being that cannot act otherwise than under the idea of freedom is just because of that really free in a practical respect, that is, all laws that are inseparably bound up with freedom hold for him just as if his will had been validly pronounced free also in theoretical philosophy."

-Immanuel Kant, _Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals_

* * *

June opened the door and walked in, telling Chuck to "Enter!" as she did. He knew that June had 'inherited' Sarah's place, but he had not been there since Sarah left, never since June moved in. The first thing he noticed was not the greenness of the place, but its odor. _Lysol._ Vaguely nauseating and gross, like someone had scratched a scratch-n-sniff urinal cake.

"Smells clean," Chuck offered, trying to think of something to say when June rotated to face him and gave him a look like she expected a comment on the place.

"Yeah, it was hard to get the odor of _skank_ out after the previous tenant, but eventually I did."

June waited for a response, but Chuck just walked in. "Very green," he finally added.

June shrugged. "Came that way. Don't expect to stay long enough to need to decorate."

The place had been bare enough when Sarah lived there. Not much had marked the place out as a home at all. It really always seemed like a hotel room, not an apartment. But with June there it felt even less homey. Chuck knew the apartment had smelled of Sarah, and that was always one of his favorite things anytime he visited. Now the place smelled like Aisle Twelve at Large Mart, the disinfectant aisle. June continued to watch him as he looked around and put down his bag.

She walked to him and put her hand softly against his chest, then she pulled at his Herder tie. He had forgotten he was still in his work clothes. She held the tie in her hand for a moment, almost as if she were weighing it. When she looked up at him, her strange eyes looked almost soft. "Brave boy tonight, Intersect. You stood there while a man held a gun on you and you watched me kill him. Then you stood up to one of the most powerful men in DC. I did not know you had it in you." She ran her hand up and down the length of his tie, her gaze turning speculative. "There may be more to you than anyone expects, and I don't just mean the computer in your head...Maybe there's more to me too." The speculative look in her eyes died away, and her eyes hardened. "But maybe not."

She dropped his tie. "Unless you plan to screw me, you sleep on the floor." Her tone was now blunt and transactional. "So, what'll it be?" She turned her face up at him, an attempt at a grin on it, but there was a darkness behind it. A need.

He recoiled. "The floor! The floor." Her eyes sequenced through anger, disappointment and hurt.

"I'm going to shower." She grabbed some things while Chuck got a blanket and a pillow from the closet.

He had made his pallet and finally got comfortable when he heard the shower start. He let his mind relax, images of the day running through it at random but always ending with Sarah's face as they said goodbye. Sadness gripped him, hopelessness nipped at him. He felt like crying. Then he realized that the feeling was in part caused by June. He could hear her sobbing in the shower.

ooOoo

June had not cried since Cabo. Cabo. At some level, she knew that following Bryce and the blonde there had been crazy. But she had not been able to help herself. From the first time she saw him in Langley, she had been filled with a desire to have him. Not just to sleep with him, but for him to be hers. And for her to be his.

It had been like the feeling she had when a girl and the stray kitten followed her back to her house, the home of her foster family. She had snuck it into her room. Fed it watery milk from an eyedropper, petted and cuddled it. She had wanted it for her very own. Her kitty. Something that belonged to her and that she could belong to. She had come home from school one day and the kitten was gone. She had searched everywhere while being careful not to seem like she was searching. But all she found was the purple ribbon she had tied around the kitten's neck, a ribbon smaller and thinner than the one June wore every day, but the same shade of purple. She found the ribbon in the shed, next to a stack of burlap sacks her foster father kept there, bags potatoes came in and that he kept in case they came in handy. She had a horrible feeling. She ran from the shed to the creek near the house. She found her kitten in a bag floating in the water. It had drowned in the sack, no way to escape the water.

She dug a hole in the creekside with her bare hands and secreted the tiny wet body in it. She covered it over. She never went back. She never had another pet. She never had even had a houseplant. That night, she crawled into her foster father's bedroom and slipped her ribbon around his neck. She drew it tight before he could awaken. He had finally fought her off: he was too big, too strong, she, too small, too weak. But she would have killed him and been glad about it. The next morning she was back in the foster system. Her foster father had not told them what she had done, perhaps because he was worried about the consequences for what he had done to the kitten, perhaps because he was ashamed of what he had done to the helpless little thing.

She had not wanted anything else as her own until Bryce. Then she found him at the club. She took him home, and they had sex again and again. Each time she felt like the furnace of darkness and despair inside her, always raging, died down. Each time, she felt less miserable just being alive. She clung to him, trying to cling to that feeling. But it would always pass, and then she would push him away in disappointment, until the furnace began to burn hot again, and she would pull him to her.

When he told her to leave Cabo, that it was over for good, she had gone and found a place to buy a rifle. Black market, untraceable. She had found a vantage point on the room that Bryce was sharing with Walker, and she had sat through an evening, moving the scope's crosshairs from one to the other, always on the verge of pulling the trigger, never able to do it. It would not get her Bryce. She could not bear the thought of him dead, like her kitten. And although she could bear the thought of Walker dead and welcomed it, she knew Bryce would become just as unreachable for her if she killed Walker as he would have if she had killed him. She had wept then, the gun still in her hands, Bryce still visible through the scope. As darkness fell, she had wiped the gun down, left it on the floor of the room that had been her vantage point, and she left Cabo.

Why was she crying now?

The hot water in the shower was pounding on her, almost scalding. Her skin had turned pink. Maybe it had something to do with Anders, shooting him, but she knew it had more to do with the look in Chuck's eyes when she offered the backhanded invitation to him to sleep with her. He had looked neither aroused nor intrigued. He had not even looked embarrassed or intimidated. He had just looked afraid. Afraid. Bryce had looked at her like that the last time they were together in Cabo. He was afraid of her. The man she wanted and needed, feared her. She could inspire fear, not love. She did not want only to inspire fear. Chuck's eyes had told her what Bryce's told her at the end, and what her foster father's told her that night long ago.

 _You are a monster._

Some days, she...coped...with that, ignored it, or observed a stretched and rigid _détente_ with it. Other days, most days, she embraced it, welcomed it; she unbridled the monster, or kept the reins loose, gave it its head. Some days, though, it rose up and hunted her, found her, hurt her... The only constant was the monster's restless hunger for pain. Anyone's pain. Even hers. Some days, especially hers.

She got out of the shower, and, standing with a towel in the thick steam, she dried her eyes as she dried the rest of her. _I am a monster._ She wiped the mirror with her towel and stared the monster down.

ooOoo

Beckman's Gallon-o'-Coffee was still hot. The sun was rising outside her window. A new day. One Beckman would begin by being ashamed of herself. At about this time yesterday, she had thought of one of her NSA analysts. Dan Ansley. A good-hearted kid from the Midwest who came to Washington hoping to do his country some good. He had not been able to meet the physical requirements to be an NSA agent, but Beckman had liked him so much during the interview, and was so impressed with his good manners and quick mind that she had offered him a job. She knew he came to work while it was still dark, so she called him to her office and she told him what she wanted.

She wanted Dan to go to a particular nearby McDonald's, order a breakfast burrito, and wait for Susie Lou LaRussa to show up. He was to approach her and make conversation. Just be friendly. But the goal was to get her to talk about what she was working on for Graham. She would be reluctant but she was also very, very lonely. Dan really did not seem to understand exactly what he was being asked to do. He had been overjoyed to get a chance to do fieldwork. He had agreed immediately. He called last night to say that he and Susie Lou had talked for a long time after an awkward meeting. She had met him later in the day, after work, and they went to a restaurant together. Susie Lou drank some wine, not much, but too much for her, and she had whispered into Dan's ear about her work as he carried her into her cramped apartment.

She was working on an important AI project. She was enhancing the existing technology. It would do more than the original version. _It was for..._ , and at this moment, Dan said, Susie Lou had leaned her forehead against Dan's and put her finger to her lip, unsuccessfully _shushing_ herself ... _it was for secret agents. Her boss was going to use it but it wasn't ready._

Susie Lou had wanted Dan to spend the night, but he had managed to leave without hurting her feelings. So Dan said, and Beckman believed him. Still, she hated doing this to Susie Lou. Manipulating thieves or killers, villains, manipulating manipulators, that seemed to Beckman unfortunately required. But Suie Lou was no manipulator, no villain, no thief. Manipulating her was a hateful thing. Dan was willing to continue, although Beckman could sense a newfound reluctance in him, and Beckman knew, sadly, that she would order him to do so. She needed to know more. What Susie Lou revealed confirmed Beckman's guesses, although the shortness of the timetable was news, worrisome news, as was the part about it not being ready.

Clearly, Graham had restarted and intensified the Intersect Project. He had gotten the President's buy-in, no doubt by promising nearly superhuman intelligence agents. And it would be like Graham to try to secure the buy-in not only by promising splashy results but by promising them in short order.

He would need agents willing to take the risk of downloading this new Intersect. Who would he choose? Beckman needed Dan to make quick progress with Susie Lou. She called him and told him to head to McDonald's. Time for Dan to have another burrito.

Beckman picked up copies of the documents Casey had forwarded to her yesterday. Scary stuff. No doubt Graham would have a story about the documents, some explanation or attempt to discredit them. Still, they would create huge problems for him, maybe eventually costing him his job.

The trouble was that the documents were now caught up in Bartowski's uneasy truce against Graham. Showing them to anyone, to the President, would mean that Bartowski had done what he said he would not do. Beckman did not care for Graham's sake. So long as nothing happened to Bartowski, Graham was supposed to be safe. So long as nothing happened to Graham, Bartowski was supposed to be safe. It was maddening. She had the means of seriously wounding Graham but it was not clear when she should use it. One other problem was that if she used it, there would be a serious administrative lag between the presentation of the documents and Graham's eventual punishment, perhaps even dismissal. Who knew what Graham might manage to do to Bartowski in the meantime? The threat was more likely to keep Graham at bay for a while than the presentation of the documents. But for how long? Graham was not a patient man.

Beckman had to count on Dan succeeding at a task she loathed and for which he would almost certainly come to hate himself. She picked up her massive coffee cup-almost a bucket, really-and toasted her reflection in the window. Was she really any different than Graham at the end of the day, or at the beginning? Good mo _rning, you old bitch._

ooOoo

Graham was angry with the sun. He had fallen asleep on his desk and a shaft of sunlight had found his closed eyes. It forced him into wakefulness. Wakefulness tasted of bile and Bartowski.

Bartowski. Graham sent Walker to Burbank to put a bullet in his brain. Graham had been convinced Bartowski was in on it with Larkin (back when Graham thought Larkin was rogue). When Walker told him that Bartowski had blamelessly downloaded the program, Graham was ecstatic for a moment. Then she told him about saving Stanfield, and Graham heard warning bells. Bartowski was a good guy, a hero. But Graham intended the Intersect for agents like Larkin. Idealism and the Intersect were not the combination Graham coveted.

He wanted a self-interested realist. The kind of person Graham knew how to control, the kind of person who would take orders, who would understand the Intersect as an enhancement to a weapon, not as a precious gift-curse from the Universe that required its recipient to become a selfless proponent of The Good. Like Peter Parker-or some other comic hero.

 _Ha! Comic hero._ That was Bartowski.

Graham shook his head. His thoughts were jumbled this morning.

Graham would not deny that Bartowski had done some good, that the team in Burbank had done some good. But Bartowski constantly frustrated Graham, and he had basically turned Graham's Enforcer into a full-time babysitter.

One reason Graham had agreed to allow Walker to return to deep cover was that he was certain that going under again cover again, and, likely, getting under Larkin again, would rid Walker of the strangeness in her that only seemed to increase the longer she stayed in Burbank. She would return to the agent, the woman Graham knew before Bartowski. Was Walker compromised? Graham had worried that she was, but her choice to go undercover reassured him. She must have recognized the strangeness in herself and understood that she needed to rid herself of it.

Graham had heard nothing from her or Larkin. But he did not expect to, not until they had results. They were a good team. He trusted them.

But that left him with the problem of Bartowski, trouble with a capital 'B'.

He had planned to have Walker kill him. Then he thought maybe he could use him. But it became clear that was not going to happen. Bartowski had his own agenda, and he had proven to be effective, but not governable, foreseeable ways. Graham wanted Intersects who were predictable, known quantities. And he was worried, deeply worried, that Bartowski's continuing success would begin to make people, most notably the President, wonder if Graham's vision of a cadre of synchronized, controllable Intersects was the best vision, the one to back.

Bartowski's continuing success had clearly made a mark on Beckman. She liked the team, she liked the good they did. Deep down, Graham believed she actually liked the kinder, gentler version of spying that Bartowski advocated ( _What a joke!_ ), even if Beckman had mostly inured herself to the need for the unkind, ungentle version.

Beckman had an unfortunate tumor for a woman in her position: a conscience. And while it might be worse for wear, it was still capable of action. Graham had been free of that tumor from early on. And he wanted Intersects who were tumor-free too.

Susie Lou did not understand. The Intersect was not supposed to gear into an agent's conscience, because agents of the sort Graham wanted to Intersect would have little, if any, conscience. A conscience individualized a person, made him or her think he or she was in charge of himself or herself, instead of answerable to someone else. In the case of an Intersected agent, the agent was answerable to Graham, not himself or herself.

Graham sent Thorne to Burbank to break Bartowski. That process had gotten started, but it was not working as quickly as Graham hoped, if it was working at all. He wanted Thorne to make Bartowski flash until his brain liquefied. He needed Bartowski to fail so that he could put an end once and for all to the thought that an Intersect like Bartowski was a good idea, a workable idea. She was supposed to push him again today and the day after. A video session was scheduled in two days so that Graham could see for himself what the punishment of flashes had done to Bartowski. Graham was afraid Bartowski would last too long. He wanted Bartowski to have failed before he met with the President again.

So Graham had decided to make a different use of that video conference.

Susie Lou had visited Graham's office again yesterday, just before she left work. Graham had been surprised to see her and by her appearance. Susie Lou had her hair brushed to a luster and pulled back in a neat ponytail. She had on makeup. Her glasses were neither on nor hanging from their usual chain. Contacts. Graham wondered if he had ever looked at her face; she was not as plain as he imagined. She must have had plans after work.

But that was not why she came to Graham, of course. She came to Graham because she spent the day testing with the prototype, running a couple of simulations, and just reflecting more about it. She was almost certain that the current prototype would cause serious psychological and physical harm to an unprepared, untested bearer. Irreparable harm if the agent had it for long. It was not a good idea to test it on an actual agent. The current prototype would work, in the sense that it could be downloaded and functional: provide the agent with the database and imbue the agent with increases in adrenaline and stamina.

"But," Susie Lou continued, looking frightened but speaking nonetheless, "it will scramble the agent's mind, like an egg. I guess...I am not as far along as I thought…" She waited patiently to be reprimanded.

"I tell you what, Susie, have a downloadable version of it ready for me in two days. As is. Don't worry about it beyond that, just keep working to perfect it."

"But, sir…"

"Two days. Now, I believe your workday is over." She brightened at that reminder, more than he had ever seen her brighten, and she left his office.

He would dismiss Thorne from the upcoming video conference, then he would trick Bartowski into downloading the new Intersect. Bartowski would never know what hit him. No one would know that he had downloaded the current prototype. Graham would finally have the result he wanted. Proof that an Intersect like Bartowski was not a good idea. And he would finally be rid of Bartowski. When Bartowski went over the edge, he could be institutionalized, almost as good as bunkering, and cheaper. One way or the other, one version or another, it would be the Intersect that caused the ruin of Chuck Bartowski. Fitting. _Bartowski's gibbering shell at the intersection of Intersect past and Intersect future..._

 _...Never, ever, call me 'Langston' unless I invite you to._

 _And if what happens seems to be of natural causes, no contingency plan of Bartowski's should go into effect, if there really was one. 'If something happens to me' surely did not mean 'If I simply go mad'._

Bartowski was about to lose his mind.

ooOoo

Sarah was finishing her Americano while watching Bryce stir cream into his cup. He had been stirring it in for a long time, around and around with a red stir stick, but he had yet to take a drink. He was brooding, pouting. But she was not going to ask about what was bothering him. She knew, anyway. Bryce never lost gracefully. He had lost to Chuck, and in an arena where he was so certain of his superiority that what he heard last night was clearly becoming inconceivable to him by the light of day.

She wondered, although she had no plans to ask, if Bryce's inability to lose might have been part of the story about what he had done to Chuck. She did not doubt that Bryce had motives that were good, but she also did not doubt that Bryce's motives were impure, mixed. She had not thought about it at the time, and Chuck had never mentioned it, but Bryce had taken those same tests, and he was not the one selected. Chuck was. Chuck's were the higher scores. That had to have rankled Bryce. And maybe that is why Bryce's chosen method for getting Chuck out of what the CIA had planned was so destructive: there had been jealousy and revenge mixed in with the high-minded desire to save Chuck from the CIA's program. Even if Bryce had not wanted to be part of the program, it would still have rankled him that he was not chosen and Chuck was.

She was not sure what Bryce had in mind when he 'invited' her to 'Omaha'. Sure, she knew he wanted to restart the Andersons, _completely_ restart them. But she did not know why he had made it seem like he was willing to make a real commitment to her. Maybe he believed he could actually do it. He was fooling himself, but not her. Even if Bryce really wanted an exclusive relationship, he would never manage one. He would always understand it as giving up something he should not have to give up. He would never understand it as gaining something he could not have otherwise.

Sarah had come to realize at some point, she supposed at around the time she and Bryce first became the Andersons, that she was dreaming of a...relationship. She had never had one. Her life with her father had made a boyfriend an impossibility. The ugly duckling thing, the constant movement would have been bad enough, but the thought of having to lie to someone she cared about made her loathe to get close to anyone in high school.

Once in the CIA, the same problems resurfaced, albeit in slightly different forms and after the duckling had become a swan. Over the first few years, she tried to date other agents a few times, but the dating had been brief and frustrating. As much as she wanted something more than a short-lived fling, she had not been able to have it or see how to have it.

She was a practiced liar by that point, and she found silence or falsehood easier than the truth. The man she was dating, the agent, was usually much the same, so the two of them spent their time saying little and almost none of it true. Those agents she dated were never her partners. She saw them when she could between her missions and theirs. Bryce was the first and only partner she had dated. (Other than her brief stint with the CATS, she always worked alone.) At first, it had seemed like maybe she could realize her dream with Bryce. She tried to make it happen until she finally understood that the Andersons were not a real couple who went on missions together, and had a reality beyond those missions; no, the Andersons were a cover couple who only existed on missions and who turned the time between into more mission-time. In their supposed downtime together, the Andersons never became real, they just did cover maintenance for the next mission. The Andersons existed inside mission parameters and nowhere else. She had felt like giving up the dream.

Chuck had revivified her dream. She did not know how or why, but he had the innate ability to eject her from the mission, to call her back to herself and to him. She went to sleep last night for the first time in her life contemplating a future. Not the mission. The future. _Hoping_. Her life had been hopeless for so long. She knew what she wanted from the future, although she was still afraid to picture it, much less verbalize it to herself. But it was _there_ , and she was not denying it.

She had been disappointed this morning when she had no text from Chuck. She drank the last of her coffee and went to the bathroom. She sent a text to Chuck.

 **Back in N.O. Missing you.**

She sent the message. After a moment, a response.

 **Missing you. No chance to text. Dreamed of you.**

She smiled; it became a smirk. She couldn't help herself.

 **What was I wearing?**

There was a pause, Chuck deciding what to tell her, no doubt. She could imagine the blush. _I love him._

 **Me.**

She giggled but felt her body warm to the image. She sent her text quickly before Chuck could second guess what he had said.

 **Soon, I hope. Text me later? May not be able to respond until late. Mission.**

She felt funny, waiting for his response. Breathless, nervous. Maybe this was an intimation of what she had missed in high school.

 **Yes. Be safe.**

ooOoo

The seating arrangements were the same as last time, with the same results. Bryce was responding to a whisper from Garland at one end of the table. Sarah was chatting with Josephine Pollihue at the other.

"Looks like you didn't stop it, Mrs. Anderson."

Sarah glared a little at the old woman. Sarah knew it was time to play her part. "I tried...He's...curious...and insistent."

Josephine laughed humorlessly. "I can imagine. She's all that heat lamps and silicone can make her."

Sarah winced and Josephine held up her hand apologetically. "Sorry. That was unfeeling."

Both women pushed their desserts around fancy plates with no appetite.

"Gretta," Josephine said loudly, unexpectedly. "I am going to take Mrs. Anderson on a tour of the house."

Gretta looked away from Bryce for the merest second and made a permissive gesture.

"Can you push me, dear?" Josephine requested.

Sarah got up and moved Josephine's wheelchair back from the table. She headed off in the direction in which Josephine pointed. They left the dining room and passed into another. Josephine seemed uninterested in it so they went to another. Josephine held up her hand for Sarah to stop. She waved at a portrait on the wall. A good-looking, thick-bodied man. "My son." She gazed at the portrait inscrutably.

Sarah broke the brooding silence. "He was handsome," she offered

Josephine nodded. "Yes, too bad. He attracted Gretta and she ruined him. Turned him into a man I didn't know and didn't want to know. And she murdered him."

Sarah did not know what to say. Garland's file noted that her husband had disappeared and that she had been a Person of Interest for a time, but nothing came of it; there was no evidence against her.

"I know everyone dismisses me. Crazy old bag in a chair. But I know she did it."

Josephine turned her wheels herself so that she faced Sarah and not the portrait. "Why is it, Mrs. Anderson, that you are a happy woman tonight, happier than when I saw you last, far happier, despite knowing your husband is going to cheat on you with an evil woman ?"

Sarah knew her mouth was open to speak, but she could hardly think. Josephine again had shocked her, done something Sarah had not anticipated.

"I'm not happy...I mean I'm not happy about that...I mean…" How could this woman reduce her to stammering? Why wouldn't the lies come?

"You mean that you are in love, Mrs. Anderson, but not with Mr. Anderson. There's a lucky man somewhere out there, I can tell. You were thinking of him all through dinner. The man who should be your husband, not the man who is pretending to be your husband."

Sarah's breath caught. She felt her eyes widen.

"Mrs. Anderson" Josephine pronounced the name with an odd emphasis, "let's stop pussyfooting around. You and your husband aren't what you're pretending to be. I'm certain you're here to take Gretta down. I want to help. I can be your eyes on the inside. Your _wheels_ on the inside." Josephine grinned, then frowned. "I want to _ruin_ her, undo her. I have an idea about the kind of people she's involved with, the kinds of things she's done. Let me help you. I'll be a _double agent_." Josephine stopped and became introspective for a moment. "Actually, I'm not sure that's the right way to use that term." She shrugged. "What can I say? I'm old, and new to the spy game."

* * *

 **A/N2** A few twists on or disambiguations of canon. Tune in next time for Chapter 15, "Double Vision". File days. Casey has a talk with Ellie. Josephine begins spying. And more!

Leave a review, please!


	16. Chapter 15: Double Vision

**A/N1** A quiet, shorter chapter, mostly of conversation, as we take the first slow steps that will lead to the final sprint.

Time moves herky-jerky in the chapter.

Don't own _Chuck._

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

* * *

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 _Double Vision_

* * *

Sea creature/sex creature, woman in love  
A slip of the tongue or the hand in the glove  
Kiss me and wound me again and again  
Faster than beauty our beast is unchained  
-Bill Nelson, _Flaming Desire_

* * *

Sarah and Bryce sat in tense silence as their cab took them back to the hotel. Bryce paid the driver and Sarah got out. She was still trying to come to grips with the conversation she had with Josephine. Sarah believed Josephine. And she could not prevent Josephine from watching Garland in the house.

Sarah had made a decision in the moment. She had decided to trust Josephine. Sarah smiled a little inwardly: trusting Josephine was such a Chuck thing to do. Sarah was annoyed with herself; she had not realized how dreamy she had let herself be during dinner. She ought to have been subtly outraged by Bryce and Garland, but instead, she replayed her time with Chuck: on his bed, his hands on her body, over her clothes-although she had unbuttoned her blouse a few buttons and invited him to touch her more beneath it. That touch was all either of them could stand, and left them both gasping. In memory, she had felt his hands tender on her flesh again throughout dinner. His text came back to mind, about her wearing him. She had sat damply for much of the meal, her legs crossed, and, she now realized, her pupils likely dilated.

She needed to get herself under control, take charge of her actions and reactions. She was expecting a lecture from Bryce when they got to the room.

She got it.

Inside the room, Bryce whirled on her. "What do you think you are doing? Getting Garland pliable requires not only that she believe I want her, but that she also believes it all is tormenting you. What part of that do you not understand? Tonight was saved by the old woman. Gretta was beginning to notice that you weren't noticing. What is wrong with you? Is it...Chuck? Can you really not get your mind out of Burbank and back in New Orleans? Our lives are at risk. Not our _love lives_. Our lives. Get your head in the game, Walker!"

Bryce tossed his sports coat on the bed and stalked into the bathroom, slamming the door. Sarah stood there, blinking. He was mostly right, although she knew he was exaggerating a bit; he had been angry before they had gone to dinner. Josephine had noticed Sarah's drifting attention. Now that Sarah thought about what Bryce claimed, she realized that Josephine had intervened at a key moment; she owed her: Josephine was sharp, observant, vulpine.

She wanted Chuck, and that was creating problems. Physical longing often flared into an overwhelming ache. But the deeper problem was that she wanted to know that he had forgiven her, forgotten his anger and hurt. She wanted to know that when he thought of her, all he felt was love, oceans of it, as was true when she thought of him. The likely imbalance distracted her. Of course, she knew that she had kept Chuck on the worst side of an imbalance for her whole time in Burbank, letting him believe he was falling in love alone.

Being so far away, she could do little except text him. But she knew Chuck; Ellie was right; he recovered. She really just needed to do everything she could to keep channels of communication between them open, to let him know how she felt; and she had to wait for time to do the rest.

She would do better. Get focused. But she knew the truth: she was not the spy she once was and she had no desire to be, although she would try for the sake of the mission. Bryce was right. This was potentially life-and-death, no matter how...debauched and disgusting the mission was at the moment. Fulcrum was looming; Fulcrum was the goal. She needed not to allow Garland's repugnant plan to bed Bryce to make her forget that Garland was a killer in charge of other killers.

Josephine was supposed to visit the hotel tomorrow. Sarah sighed. When Bryce finally left the bathroom, she would have to tell him about Josephine. He was going to be pissed.

ooOoo

 _Earlier that day_

Chuck had texted with Sarah while June was finished in the bathroom. He had put the burner away well before she came into the room. With the bathroom unoccupied, Chuck grabbed his bag and took his turn. He was exhausted. He had gotten to sleep late, waiting to see how June seemed when she emerged from the bathroom. She had not looked at him. She had gotten in the bed without a word. He fell asleep soon afterward.

It seemed that June woke him mere seconds later. She was leaning over him, her grin crooked, edgy. "Wakey, wakey, Intersecty…Rise and flash! An exciting day of files ahead…"

Chuck took a quick shower. He got out and got dressed. He took the small box from the side pocket, the box with the circlet of Sarah's hair. He gave it a kiss and put it away. As he did, a tongue of desire flamed in him so intense he thought he would melt. God, he loved her. He wanted her so much. Missing her was going to drive him crazy. After splashing some cold water on his face, he leaned against the sink until he steadied.

He felt better about things between them today. Yes, she had run, and she had hurt him. But he had been considering her explanations and he was beginning to understand. More than anything, though, more even than the explanations, there was the fact that she came back. _She came back_. She _told me she loves me_. Those were massive, massive. Sarah Walker returned. He had to find a way to her.

He left the bathroom and joined June. They walked to her Jeep and, sooner than Chuck wanted, they were at the strip mall. She unlocked the door. They went inside. Everything was as before. Table, files, plastic chairs, the old couch, television. June told him to sit down and she left. A few minutes later she returned, with a briefcase and a cup holder with two cups in it.

"Today's homework. But I got you some coffee. I needed some." She put the briefcase and cup holder down. She handed a cup to Chuck and he took off the plastic lid, sniffed the deep aroma and took a sip. Good. He felt better. June opened the briefcase and took out a file. She put it in front of Chuck. "Get to work!" It was an order. She went, turned on the tv and sat down on the couch, sipping her coffee. The file was huge, thicker by an inch or so than the one he had worked through before. Chuck gritted his teeth and started.

Three hours of misery later, June shut the file. Chuck looked up at her, but he could not see her clearly. There were two of her, then one, then two. His head was throbbing, burning like all his teeth were abscessed.

June told him to rest. There was a knock at the door. She approached the door carefully, but it was just a pizza man. She paid him and brought the pie to the table. She grabbed a slice, folded it, and started eating it, grabbing a napkin to put beneath the folded slice. Chuck just sat there. He was in too much pain to eat. Maybe in a few minutes. He put the digital recorder down; he had forgotten he was still holding it.

ooOoo

Ellie walked out of the hospital, hunched over, beaten. It had been a long couple of shifts and she wanted nothing more than to get home, get in a hot tub and relax. She also wanted to think more about the return of Sarah Walker.

Before she got to her car, a familiar Crown Vic pulled into the lot and cut her off. Casey had the passenger window down.

"Ellie, how 'bout we grab some coffee? I won't keep you long, but it is important."

She grabbed the handle and got in as her answer. Casey popped open the glove compartment and Ellie saw a red wire-bound notebook there. Hers. She gave Casey a questioning look, and he motioned for her to take it.

She sighed, acknowledgment and apology together. "I'm sorry, Casey. I shouldn't have...I shouldn't have written any of my thoughts about the Intersect down...but it helps my process. I'm visual."

Casey checked his mirrors as he nodded his head. "I understand. And I know you tried to hide it. But it was found, Ellie, and not by me, not by Chuck. It was found by an enemy agent. A Fulcrum agent. He was after Chuck"

Ellie gasped. "What was a...Fulcrum agent doing in our apartment? How did he find Chuck? Oh, my God? Chuck!"

"No, no, Ellie, he's fine. Well, he's with Thorne. But he's fine. I saw him this morning, made sure he and June got to where they were going. There's a team posted outside the location. They should be good. But the guy, Ellie, the Fulcrum guy, found Chuck because he found the Buy More, and found Morgan and Jeff."

I'll _kill_ that bearded troll with my bare hands. I'll let _you_ kill Jeff for me."

Casey laughed soundlessly, his chest shaking. "They meant no harm, and at least they remembered talking to the guy. I reminded them that they ought not to volunteer personnel information to people they don't know. With those two, and Lester, hell, the whole bunch, you can only hope for the best. Of course, because that's true they've provided Chuck with good cover…"

"I guess. But Chuck? Is he really ok?"

"Yeah. Fulcrum guy, not so much." Casey pulled out of the lot and joined traffic.

Ellie gulped. "Was it Sarah?"

"No, Sarah left before any of it happened. She had to return to New Orleans. I talked to her as she left your place. She stayed around for a while after Chuck left."

"So, who was it?"

"Thorne. She shot the guy. Hell of a shot, really."

"Hearing that makes me less happy, somehow, John. But at least she turned out to be good for something."

Casey chuckled soundlessly again. They drove in silence, then stopped at a coffee shop. They got out and went inside and placed their orders.

As they sat down, Ellie shifted ground. "What do you think, Casey? Do Chuck and Sarah have a chance? I like her. I like her a lot. And Chuck, well, you know how he feels about her. She and I talked. I feel better about her...but I don't like their chances. The Intersect, the CIA, Bryce-Fucking-Larkin..."

Casey laughed once more but aloud this time. "Well, I am sure that BFL is not a player in the sweepstakes here. Whatever is between those two, it's deep, brute, rooted in the nature of things. They are open to each other, a part of each other. I don't get it, but I see it. I believe what I see. Does that mean they will make it? Hell, no; I wish it did. Goddamnit, I do. But time and chance, Ellie, time and chance, they happen to us all. But they are worthy of making it. Keep the faith. I have been. Some days the universe doesn't suck." Casey looked down at the table.

Just then, a woman brought their coffee. When she left, Ellie put the notebook on the table. "So do I need to destroy the notebook?"

Casey shook his head. "No, but keep it at my place. Far more secure. Work there, leave it there. At least for now. These folks, Ellie, Fulcrum. They are not playing. They want the Intersect. It is possible they'll be back. You can't give in to the temptation to minimize it all. Don't live in fear, but don't forget, either."

Ellie took a drink of her coffee. "Ok, John. I get it. And ok on the notebook too. I'll leave it with you now." She drank more coffee and then shifted ground again."What's June doing with Chuck, Casey?"

"Pushing the Intersect, trying to find out how many flashes Chuck can take." Casey got a faraway look in his eyes. "You remember that commercial? 'How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?"

Ellie answered by adding: "The world may never know." They smiled at that, but then were caught again by the gravity of what they were discussing.

"How much Chuck can take? You mean, it hurts him? He left that out when he told me about it. He made flashes seem like just...I don't know, remembering…"

"It's not, Ellie. That's another reason I wanted to talk. You need to keep an eye on him. Headaches, dizziness, and double-vision. Let me know if it's getting worse. He won't tell us, like he didn't tell you. He jokes about screaming like a girl, and, well, sometimes he does, I guess" he paused as Ellie giggled, "but he screams running _toward_ danger, not away from it. Some kind of Nerd Berserker." Ellie's giggles got louder; she suddenly felt self-conscious. When she stopped giggling, she fixed a serious stare on Casey and made him look at her.

"He admires you, John. You've sort of stepped in for the brother he never had, the father who abandoned him. Thank you."

Casey looked away nervously and took a drink of his coffee. Ellie took another drink of hers. Casey looked away, yes, but Ellie noticed he did not exactly look displeased.

ooOoo

Chuck was able to choke down some pizza after a while and drink some water. His vision cleared somewhat and his head throbbed and burned less horribly.

June had finished eating and was drinking Ginger Ale. She assessed him. "How much more do you have in you?"

"None. I want to stop. Can we please stop? What's the point of this?" He gestured at the recorder. "Is anyone going to listen to all this?"

"They've already listened to the first recording. It's already had positive results, Intersect, or so I've been told. I know it hurts, but you're putting bad guys away and keeping good guys safe." June actually sounded genuinely complimentary.

"Do you believe that? Do you believe in good guys and bad guys?"

June looked at him with her purple-black eyes for a while but only shrugged. "Don't you, Intersect?"

Chuck was silent. "I do, but I don't think you can tell them apart by letters, you know, CIA, NSA, etc. Bad guys work for the so-called good guys."

"Is that a shot at me?" June's tone hardened, sounding more like the tone he was used to.

It was Chuck's turn to shrug. "Do you think you are one of the good guys?"

" _Guys?_ I'm not a guy, Intersect. Surely even you know that."

"Sorry, just a phrase, and you used it first, by the way. So do you?"

June's face went purposely blank. She pushed the file back to him. "Time to go back to work."

"Do you have any more of those gas station Excedrin packages?"

June went to the couch and grabbed some from her bag. She tossed them to Chuck. He opened several foil packages and took a handful, washing them down with water. Being government property _blew_.

ooOoo

 _Even earlier that day_

Susie Lou did not know how to feel. _Happy-sad?_

She was sitting at her McDonald's, her burrito and her orange juice in front of her. But her stomach felt funny. She had too much wine the night before, but that was not the only explanation for how she felt.

She blushed as she thought about it, how good the company had been, Dan, how good the food had been. She never went out. He had carried her ( _He carried me! I was in his arms._ ) into her house and she had wanted him to stay so much she could hardly believe it, could barely breathe to ask. Her last time had been at the end of college, and it had been with a guy she did not really like much, it turned out, even if she had thought she did.

She worked too hard. She never went out. She met no one. But then Dan had shown up at McDonald's and talked to her. And taken her out. When she had too much to drink and asked ( _begged_ ) him to stay, he had turned her down gently. Carefully. Gently. A gentleman. Not some patronizing man dressed like a dandy, but an actual gentleman. A man who put her wishes and needs ahead of his own. Someone who would not take advantage.

She hung her head. It was a foregone conclusion that she would never see him again. No computer was necessary to figure that out. She could not remember much of what they talked about, but she had no memory at all of talking about a second date.

Taking a pencil from her purse, choking down her disappointment, she started checking her receipt and began to eat her burrito, counting the number of times she chewed...until she lost count...She did a double-take...because Dan was standing in front of her, tray in his hand, smiling. At her. Susie Lou smiled back.

 _Very early the next day_

Josephine rolled her chair quietly down the long, upstairs hallway. Garland was on the phone. Josephine stopped her chair and listened.

"I realize that the meeting is mandatory. I also realize that only I may attend the Executive Meeting. What I want to know is if I may bring a companion...so long as he does not attend the Meeting? Others will bring spouses, children…"

Garland was listening. Josephine had been watching her daughter-in-law for a long time. Not quite as she was watching her today, spying, but she knew Gretta's habits and her ways. She rarely asked anyone for permission for anything.

"Ok. I understand." Garland huffed in annoyance. She had been turned down.

Josephine eased her chair around and went back down the hallway. Maybe the spying game was like any other game. Maybe beginners are lucky.

* * *

 **A/N2** Tune in next time. Graham makes preparations. Josephine becomes part of the mission. Beckman gets more help than she deserves. And more. Chapter 16, "Espial" I'd love to hear from you, please leave a review or send a PM.


	17. Chapter 16: Espial

**A/N1** Whew. Feeling better. Miracles of modern meds.

Still, whew. This write-a-chapter-then-post-it, write-another-then-post-it daily schedule is...um.. _.invigorating_. It is also a lot like playing Russian roulette with a story: the next chapter could be the one that kills you. I keep spinning the chamber, though, pulling the trigger, and here I go again.

You folks have been so kind in responding. I have been trying to respond to everyone. If I missed you, forgive me. Being headachy makes me more stupid than usual. Please keep the reviews and PMs coming! Each one is a little Excedrin dose for my aching head.

Timeline hijinks continue unabated.

Don't own _Chuck_.

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

* * *

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 _Espial_

* * *

Whenever I put my foot in my mouth and you begin to doubt  
That it's you that I'm dreaming about  
Do I have to draw you a diagram?  
All I ever want is just to fall into your human hands  
-Elvis Costello, _Human Hands_

* * *

 _The previous day, late afternoon_

The pain. It had crossed over a line and moved down his neck and into every joint of his body. He did not have a toothache; he was a toothache. He finished the file only barely able to look at the final documents. He closed it with a groan. He could hear June get up; she was standing over him, looking at him. "More meds?" He nodded and she handed him more foil packages. He did not wait for water. He opened the packets and downed the Excedrin dry. He felt June's strong hands on his shoulders, massaging them, his neck. He wanted to tell her to stop, but he could not. It was helping. There was nothing suggestive about her touch, no sign that she would push it into anything else. After letting it go on for a couple of moments, he put his hands on hers, stopping her. "Thanks."

"I think Casey is probably waiting outside. He said he would take you to Ellie's and get you something to eat, then he would bring you back to my place."

"I thought we were joined at the hip?"

"Anatomically, not the best spot for us to be joined, Intersect. Nature had a better plan." Nothing suggestive had been in her touch but there it was in her tone.

Chuck turned to face her. She was looking at him much as she had the night before. He was afraid again, not so afraid of her, although he was still afraid of her, but, rather, afraid of what she wanted. A lyric from a Smiths' song wafted into his mind unbidden: _And pretty girls make graves._

"Um...June...Look, I meant what I said the other day, what I _didn't say_ last night. I'm not going to be...handled."

She studied his face for a moment, sizing him up. "It's Walker, right ?" He had rarely heard so much hatred crammed into two syllables as she managed with 'Walker'. It helped him clear his head. _Yes, of course, it is Sarah. I am in love with her_. "But she's off with Larkin." June's face twisted. "What's it matter?"

 _What's it matter?_ He and Sarah had talked about Bryce but not really about the mission, not really about the Andersons. Sarah told him she was not _with_ Bryce, and _God, help me!_ he believed her, trusted her. Even after everything, _he did_ : he trusted Sarah. He had not stopped. Not really. Never. Not during her running away, not during the days afterward. His trust had wavered, maybe, but had not been extinguished. He needed to make June understand.

"It matters. I'm not...the sort of guy who...can...um...My feelings don't...go on and off like that, like a traffic light. Walker is gone, yes; I know. We were not together before she left...but…but..." He was not sure how to finish without saying something he did not want to say, without giving too much away.

"But... _what?_ I'm not asking you to feel anything...not like that, anyway. Emotions. I can make you feel other ways, other things…" She stepped to him and stood on her toes in her sandals, putting her mouth near his ear. "All you have to feel is pleasure. And it would be for us, you and me, not the job. No one needs to know. You are sleeping at my place anyway. Why not get off...the floor, Chuck?"

He pushed her back gently but firmly. "Look, those two kinds of feelings go together for me, June. I won't...not if it doesn't mean anything, not if it isn't a way of expressing emotions…if it's not oriented toward the future... " _God, Sarah, I want you so much. I love you so much._ "Maybe that makes me some kind of chump, some kind of a throwback to some...I don't know...chivalrous, courtly...ideal." He felt silly saying the words, but they were the ones he wanted. "But it's how I am...It's how I am wired."

June studied him again, but this time as if he were speaking a language she didn't understand, Chinese or something. She gave him the shrug he was beginning to get used to, although he did not like it. " _Whatever_. I am going to give you some time with your family. As long as Casey is with you, we'll be keeping the spirit of Graham's orders, if not their letter. See you tonight."

She led him to the door and out of it. The Crown Vic was running, Casey seated in it, waiting. Chuck climbed in. Casey gave him a hard look. "You've been better. Bad day?" Chuck nodded but said nothing.

"June? Full court press?"

Chuck shot Casey a glance. "How did you know?"

"I saw her watching you walk to the car. I see things. I ain't blind."

"I didn't Casey, I wouldn't...Sarah…"

Casey took one hand off the steering wheel and waved it. "Hell, I know, kid. But this is a complication we don't need. It was better when the only worry was that she would hurt you." Chuck looked down. Casey went on. "Sorry, but you know what I mean. She's unstable at the best of times. Her taking an interest in you, well it just adds more variables to the algorithm stew we are already simmering in."

"I know. And I don't know how to fend her off without making things worse for me or revealing how things actually stand between me and Sarah."

Casey drove for a while without speaking. At a red light, he turned to Chuck. "How do things stand between the two of you? Are you coping with the fact that she's not here? That she's there, and with _him_?"

"I'm making it, Casey. I trust her."

"Have you told her that?"

Chuck knew a pained look crossed his face. "No, not yet. Not in so many words."

Casey grimaced. "You two are going to 'not in so many words' yourselves into serious trouble. She needs to know. She thinks she ruined that, your trust, and she's going to blame herself until you make it clear to her."

"How do I do that?"

Casey was thoughtful, moving the car ahead as the light turned green. "Goddamnit if I know. But she made a big gesture, coming here. A big one. Acted against a lifetime of habits to see you. She took a chance on you, on the two of you. A big chance."

When they got to the apartment, Ellie had dinner ready. Chuck's appetite returned as his headache receded. Ellie grilled him about his physical condition and he tried to answer without worrying her too much. But he knew he could not take too many more days like this.

Casey took him to June's and walked him to her door. "Weird, goddamn weird, her being here, in Walker's place. Wrong."

Chuck sighed and knocked. June came to the door wearing a short robe and a towel around her hair.

Luckily, despite the apprehension the robe created for Chuck, June let the evening go by without pressing him. She filled out paperwork and sent the digital recording to Langley. She climbed into bed. She glanced at him once, making clear that the invitation was still open. Chuck quickly looked back down at the graphic novel he had been pretending to read while he thought about his earlier conversation with Casey. Once June was in bed, Chuck got up and went into the bathroom, a t-shirt and sweatpants hiding the burner. It was late. He was hoping Sarah would text him soon.

She did.

 **I'm sorry it's so late. Bryce and I had mission stuff to work out. Are you ok?**

Chuck's misery, physical and emotional, lifted immediately. He suddenly had a plan. Not necessarily a great plan, but Casey was right. She needed to know where his head and heart were at. It was his turn to make a gesture, to say what was true.

 **The longest day with Thorne.**

Pause.

 **Bad?**

He steeled himself.

 **Yeah. But *much* better now.**

Hardly a pause,

 **That's sweet. :)**

He smiled.

 **Sweet? Golly.**

She responded.

 **It's a good word, Chuck. I *love* you. Another good word.**

He forced his fingers to work and held his breath.

 **I love you too. Marry me?**

He could not breathe. He stared at the burner. Had a sudden image of Casey kicking him in the ass.

No response.

No response.

The burner glowed.

 **Tonight?**

He let his breath out a little and typed.

 **No, probably not in the cards for tonight. But when we can. When we can find a way.**

He waited again, his nervousness returning. He was unable to take a deep breath.

 **Yes.**

He almost fainted; he almost shouted; his eyes filled with tears.

Another text from her. He wiped his eyes to read.

 **And, Chuck?**

He typed.

 **Yeah?**

Immediate response.

 **Thank you for asking.**

"Hey, Intersect, did you fall in? You need my help?" June's voice, loud.

"No, no. Just changing." He changed as fast as he could, clicked off the light and felt his way to his pallet on the floor.

 _Yes, she said yes._ Who knew how long it would be before they could make it happen? Maybe it would never happen. But: _Sarah said yes._

ooOoo

 _I said yes. He asked me._ Sarah scrunched herself up on the couch, clutching the burner to her chest. She had...butterflies. A flutter of monarchs a-wing inside her. _He asked me. He asked me to marry him_. She was _terrifyingly_ happy, terrifyingly _happy_. She knew it was his gesture to her, his response to her return.

And she knew that it might not happen. Maybe probably would not happen. And if it did, it might be ages away. She knew everything was still a jumble. But she had run, _abandoned him_ , and still, he asked. He asked her a question she had only imagined being asked in the deep of night, on the worst of assignments, and then only when she was contemplating the things that happened to other women that would never, ever happen to her.

She had no idea how to be in love with someone. She had less of an idea, if that was possible, how to be married. _Less than zero._ But there were no manuals for any of these things. There was only the two of them and their commitment to each other. Nothing important in human life came with a manual, with a set of files, with parameters.

Love was not a mission. Marriage was not a mission. It was life, a real life, maybe not simple, but real. It was everything. She held the burner close and scrolled through the texts, just making sure she was not imagining it all. It was all there, just as she remembered. She hid the burner and stared at the ceiling. She felt the weight of the Andersons' ring on her finger. She took it off and put it on the nightstand. She was an engaged woman. Not a married woman. But maybe someday. There was no hurry, only the facts of wonderful record: _He asked; I said yes._

ooOoo

 _Mid-morning, the next day_

A knock on the hotel room door. Bryce muttered. He was very unhappy about Josephine, pissed about it, and pissed at Sarah. Sarah slipped on her shoes and answered the door, ignoring his mutters.

Josephine was there. She was in her chair. A tall, handsome elderly man was standing behind her, his hands on the chair's handles. Josephine glanced back at him. "Robert, thank you. Please wait downstairs. And remember, if anyone asks, I'm at my physical therapy class." He dipped his head, put on his cap and walked away. As he left, Josephine turned a generous grin on Sarah. "It's pool day, my _favorite_." She rolled her eyes; she did not sound like it was. Sarah stepped back, allowing Josephine to wheel herself into the room.

Sarah had earlier moved her pillow and blankets off the couch and thrown them on the bed. Bryce walked in from the bedroom, a cloud of disapproval nearly visible over his head. "Josephine." He tried to sound pleased to see her.

"Bryce." There was little warmth in Josephine's tone, although she did not sound hateful. Her disapproval of Bryce was clear, though.

Sarah sat down on the couch. Bryce walked in front of her, between her and Josephine, and plopped down heavily on the other end.

Josephine wasted no further time on formalities. "I think I heard something this morning that is going to be important for the two of you…"

Bryce cut her off. "I don't know what _mistaken impression_ my wife may have made on you, but we are who we say we are, the Andersons. There's nothing more to us than that. You really should just head to your... _pool class?_ "

Josephine eyed Bryce. "Tut, tut, Mr. Anderson," she said the name with an artificial emphasis, "don't make me call Robert back and have him kick your ass."

Bryce glowered at her. Josephine looked from him to Sarah...and then to the table next to the couch, where Sarah's wedding ring was still sitting from last night. She gave Sarah a wink. "Or maybe your _wife_ can teach you some manners, because, unless I miss my guess, she can surely kick your ass."

Bryce reddened and looked away. Sarah used the moment to grab the ring and put it on but made no effort to hide the action from Josephine.

"Someday, Mr. Anderson, you'll make some lucky girl a terrible ex-husband." Bryce whipped his head around but then just gaped. He took a second to process the remark, then could think of no response.

Josephine leaned forward in her chair, taking on a secretive air. "So, here's the _sitrep_. Earlier this morning, Gretta was on the phone with someone important, someone who could order her around. Nobody in the family, nobody in town, would dare, so I took it that she was perhaps talking to someone who would be of interest to you." Josephine's inflection rose, but never quite to the level of a question.

Bryce leaned in, but Sarah spoke. "Did you get a name, Josephine?"

"Please, Sarah, make it 'Joe'. And no, not in the way you mean it. She was talking about attending an 'Executive Meeting'. She was trying to get permission to bring along...a plaything."

Joe shifted her glance to Bryce. Her glance intensified into a glare. He started to say something again then cut his loses and stared at his brown leather shoes.

"Did you get a date, a location?" Sarah asked.

"No, not yet," Joe shifted back to Sarah, "but I think I can. I just need to get to her digital planner. She keeps everything on it. Like pictures of past...exploits." She gave Bryce a flat look. He kept staring at his shoes. "She's a fool, though. I figured out the password to the thing long ago. Like old people can't do technology. I tried to find evidence on it about...my son. But no luck. I am willing to bet the information about this meeting is on it, though. A date, a location, maybe both, if we're lucky. I just need someone to distract her for long enough for me to wheel into her office at home and look at it. She won't have it on her at the party. I have a key to the office that she knows nothing about. Bryce, I assume you can be the _distraction_ since you've been reading for that role for a while…"

Bryce nodded. He had gotten past his muttering stage and was listening now. "She's planning a tea this afternoon. I will tell her I ran into you two at the Club and invited you." Bryce started to object but Joe waved him off. "She never goes except for formal functions. She keeps a membership primarily for me. If Bryce can keep her occupied...and if Sarah can be the 'lookout'... _isn't that the term?_... I could be in and out in a jiffy. Maybe as fast as Bryce, here."

Bryce looked lost for a moment, then he frowned deeply.

Sarah worked to hide her smile. "But, Joe, why not just give me the password and let me take all the risk?"

Joe smiled at Sarah's half-hidden smile. "Because I want to be part of this in a serious way. When Gretta's done, I want to wheel onto her grave and _roll the dirt down_. I want to know I had a hand in it, that I had skin in the game." She paused and her tone changed, her outrage subsiding. "Also, it would be better if you left the party with me. We can say that you want to see more of the house, although why anyone would want to see that cash mausoleum is frankly beyond me. Still, Gretta will believe it, especially if she believes she is also getting to you, driving you out, by _fawning_ on Bryce. To use a polite word for what she'll be doing."

They talked for a while longer about the plan, Bryce clearly warming to it as the discussion went on, although Joe did not warm to him. When they finished, Sarah pushed Joe to the elevator. Joe glanced around at Sarah as best she could while they waited for the elevator to arrive. Sarah moved around the chair to face her.

"You seem different this morning, Sarah, if you don't mind me saying so. More...settled, less...uneasy." Joe smiled kindly but curiously. She waited.

"Yes, I guess you could say that. Some things have...changed for me."

"Positive changes, I take it?"

Sarah pursed her lips, then let herself smile. "Yes, very positive. But very...vulnerable."

Joe sobered. "Well, Sarah, take it from an old woman who has seen a lot of life. Only vulnerable creatures can be happy. If we were invulnerable creatures, happiness would be meaningless. Vulnerability is a qualification for happiness, not a disqualification." The elevator arrived and Joe wheeled herself on before Sarah could move back behind the chair. "See you this afternoon...partner."

Sarah could not stop a grin. "Ok, partner."

As Sarah walked back to the room, she stopped. She looked at the ring she had put on and she knew, all at once, _knew_.

Sam had never put that ring on. Sam had never awakened, not once, during Sarah's time with Bryce. She slept through it all. But Sam was awake now, and she was not happy about the mission and not happy about the Andersons. She was not happy at all. At all. Sam was not a spy.

Sarah's struggles with the mission, her difficulties staying focused, were because Sam was awake, active and involved. Sam had not made the compromises Sarah had made; she had not hardened herself in ways that Sarah had. Sam became fully awake with the kiss, but, lost in her reaction to it, Sarah had slipped the decision to run past her. But Sam caught on, caught up, and began to assert herself.

Sarah looked again at the ring and it revolted Sam. And Sarah. It revolted her.

Sam had other plans and they oriented on her lanky sweetheart back in Burbank. Sarah rather liked Sam's plans. She went into the room.

ooOoo

Lunchtime in Langley. Susie Lou crept to Graham's office door, a large laptop clutched to her breast. She had done it. A functioning...well, a _kind of functioning_ prototype of the sort Graham wanted. She was clutching it to her to try to keep her heart in her chest and to hide the fact that her hands were shaking.

She was so unsure about what she was doing. She did not want to give this to Graham. She did not know what his plan was for it. Worse, she was still not sure about her other decision, her decision about Dan.

She made herself knock at the door, knowing how meek the knock sounded but unable to rap the door harder. She had made up her mind. For once in her life, she was going to take a chance, leap outside the boundaries of her programming and go with her...gut.

Graham called for her to come in. She walked to his desk like she was walking to the gallows. She put the laptop down gingerly. "As you asked, the current prototype of the Intersect." Graham reached out, ignoring Susie, and caressed the computer. After a moment of silent communing with it, he looked up at her, eyebrows raised. "So, how do I use it? How does it work?"

"I've streamlined the download delivery. Plug it in and play, basically. A screen will appear with a red button that reads 'Begin'. You click on it and...it all starts."

"That's it?"

"Yes, sir...that's it. I've done some work on visuals, the items in which information is encrypted. As soon as the person downloading it begins to watch, a precipitate first-stage of the programming locks in, making it the case that the downloader cannot look away. The downloader will remain in eye contact with the visuals until the programming ends."

"Impressive. I knew you were the woman for the job, Susie Lou. Is there any danger for anyone else? Could it," he gestured to the laptop, " _explode_?"

Susie Lou grinned in exasperation despite her nervousness. "Well, only in the sense that occasionally a cell phone 'explodes', but that is hardly an explosion, really. It would be more of a...melt down."

Graham rubbed his hands together, unable to keep glee out of his eyes. "Very, very good. Now, remember, this project is top-secret. You are sworn to secrecy. No one may know that you brought this to me, that I got it from you. You are on the verge of another pay raise, Miss LaRussa. Soon, you will be able to buy that car you wanted.

"House."

Graham was puzzled. "How's...what?"

"No, sir, _house_ , I want to buy a house, not a car."

"Fine. Fine. All the same. You are dismissed. Take the rest of the day off, if you would like."

Susie Lou nodded once and scurried from the office. _Escape!_

She had refused to tell Dan anything about the project this morning when he asked about her work again and asked her to tell him more of what she had been telling him on their date.

Then he stopped, turned red, and told her to forget that he had asked about her work. He took her hand and asked her to go to dinner. A second date. Then he had looked guilty and started stammering. He confessed. He told her about their first date, about the NSA, about Beckman. He told her what he had been asked to do. He said he was sorry again and again, abjectly. She left in tears, unsure if she believed his apology, although she believed him about everything else.

She had decided on her way to Graham's office, though. She would call Dan, go on that second date, and she would tell him everything. Graham was _a first water son of a bitch_. Susie Lou was shocked at herself. She did not talk like that. But she was not going to let him hurt anyone, not if she could stop it.

She got her things and hurried to her car, her normal scene for dinner. Not tonight. Tonight she had a date, _a date!_ and she had a story to tell. _Please be real, Dan, please be what you seem._

ooOoo

Chuck was agony-deep in another thick file. His head kept growing and shrinking in size. He rubbed the eyes that felt like they had fallen on the table and dried out.

At least June had been less...handsy. She seemed anxious. She had mentioned that Graham had called and confirmed the video conference at the end of the day. As far as he could tell, and as far as he could read June, she was nervous about what evaluation Graham would have of the work Chuck had done over the past couple of days.

The thought of facing Graham again made Chuck's head swell and contract faster, like a beating heart beginning to race. _Shit._

He thought of Sarah; the pain decreased. _She said yes._

ooOoo

Graham owned several people in Langley. A few psychiatrists, a few analysts, even a couple of janitors. Two of the analysts, computer guys, and one of the janitors were with him, down deep, deep in the bowels of the building, in an area that did not exist on any blueprints of the massive structure. It was Graham's special place, his Little Shop of Horrors. Few living souls knew anything about it.

Graham told none of the men with him what he was doing. The janitor unlocked the doors and turned on the electricity to the room. The analysts got the equipment ready for a video conference. Graham sent them away. He got the laptop out of his briefcase and hooked it up. He checked the toggle switch beside his monitor. It would allow him in one of its two positions to see Thorne and Bartowski, and in the other to see what they were seeing. He made sure he had that switch carefully placed and memorized.

He turned on the monitor and checked the laptop screen. Red button. 'Begin' He punched in the connection to Burbank. It was time to shove a fork in Bartowski's ear and scramble his brain.

 _Langston, indeed. Who's your daddy, Bartowski?_

That made Graham double over with laughter. After a moment of hilarity, he wiped his eyes and forced himself to calm down. He looked at his watch. Almost showtime.

ooOoo

 _One hour earlier_

Beckman looked up when she heard her assistant arguing with someone at the door. Her assistant lost. The door opened and Dan Ansley walked in. He was not alone. Susie Lou LaRussa was with him. They were holding hands. _Oh, Sweet Mother Mary! What a world!_

Susie Lou peered closely at Beckman. "Hey, I know you."

* * *

 **A/N2** Susie Lou ain't wrong. A race against the clock in the next chapter, Chapter 17 "From a Whisper to a Scream." Tune in!

Response? House about a review?


	18. Chapter 17: From a Whisper to a Scream

**A/N1** Washington, Burbank, New Orleans: Oh, my. Here we go!

Thanks for all the enthusiastic reviews and PMs. It's fun to ride a wave crest of positive energy. Keep it coming!

Don't own _Chuck_.

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

* * *

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

 _From a Whisper to a Scream_

* * *

Let me take you there  
The dotted line  
Surrounding the mind  
Of a self called nowhere  
It's a thing named "it"  
In a bottomless pit  
You can't see it there  
The sunken head  
That lies in the bed  
Of a self called nowhere  
-They Might Be Giants, _A Self Called Nowhere_

* * *

Beckman crossed quickly to Susie Lou, sizing up the situation as she did. Dan had told Susie Lou. Obviously. Still, she was _here_ in NSA headquarters.

"Hello, Susie Lou. We meet again."

Dan jumped in immediately. "Susie, this is General Beckman, my boss. I told you about her."

Susie Lou gave Dan a hurt look and dropped his hand. "So this started _before_ you?"

Beckman saw his face crumple in response, so she answered for him. "Yes, I wanted to meet you, Susie Lou." Beckman followed her hunch, what Susie Lou had said. "We need to stop Graham and I knew you had to be the person who was directing the Intersect Project. I needed to know if we could...approach you."

"'Approach me'? That's what you call it? Sending Dan to...to…"

"No, Susie," Dan objected, desperate. "I told you she sent me. Whatever she thought would happen," he looked apologetically at Beckman and she nodded for him to continue, "she sent _me._ I'm no agent. I'm just... _a guy_. A guy who couldn't...treat you that way."

Susie Lou looked at Dan and her expression immediately softened. She reached for the hand she dropped and took it back.

"No, you're not just a guy. It's...ok, Dan." She turned to Beckman, squaring her shoulders. "So, General, I am here to help. I want to stop Graham. He's planning something bad. I think he has some volunteer, some guinea pig, and he is going to get him or her to download the current prototype. Take my word for it, that will not be good for the agent."

Beckman gestured for Dan and Susie Lou to sit. She relocated behind her desk but remained standing.

"Do you know his timetable?"

Susie Lou thought for a minute. "Not exactly. But sooner rather than later. Today would be my guess, given his reaction to getting the prototype." Pain and regret fell across Susie Lou's face. "I suspect he had people in my lab...watching me. I couldn't sit on the prototype without arousing suspicion. So I gave it to him. To Graham. Maybe I should have been braver. Stalled. Something...But I went straight to Dan...to tell him. He brought me here right away."

"It's ok, Susie Lou," Beckman offered, finally sitting down herself, hoping to make Susie Lou more comfortable. "This works best if we can catch him red-handed. No chance for denial. But it is risky, very risky."

Beckman shifted her attention and picked up the phone. She dialed a number and turned away, talking in hushed tones. She ended the call and turned around. "Graham has not left the building today. He's presumably still in Langley. Do you have any idea where he might do something like this if he were going to do it there?"

Susie Lou considered the question. "There's scuttlebutt about hidden rooms deep in the building, like a dungeon," Susie Lou shuddered, "but, I admit, the working floors of the place are creepy enough for me. I've never gone looking around," Susie Lou was shamefaced.

Beckman responded, holding up her hands. "No reason for you to, and probably not safe for you to. Did Graham ever mention an agent, a volunteer, by name?"

Susie Lou shook her head. "No, no names in particular. But he gave me a list once of possible volunteers. I still remember the names. I have a good memory." She rattled off four names, all unfamiliar to Beckman. Beckman wrote them down and then went through the routine with her phone again. When she ended the call, she explained. "My contact is checking to see if any of those agents are in Langley today Did he ever mention someone named _Bartowski_?"

Susie Lou shook her head again. "No, but I know that name. He was involved with the original project somehow, right?"

"A bit," Beckman said, guardedly. She really wasn't sure what Graham had told the new research team about the old.

Beckman halted her thoughts on 'sure'. She _was not_ sure; that was Beckman's overarching problem at the moment. Beckman dropped her head in her hands, as Dan scooted his chair nearer Susie Lou's. Beckman had to decide. She could take a team and force her way into Langley; it could be done. But it would mean burning huge political capital, maybe all she had, and if she could not find Graham, if he weren't there or if he were just sitting in a chair, drinking coffee, he would use her decision against her, destroy her. He could do it, no doubt; she would have done it to herself. The Agencies were supposed to observe a strict, formal _No Trespass_ rule. Of course, in practice, neither did. They spied on each other more doggedly than on, say, North Korea. Envy of a neighbor was almost always a greater motivator than fear of a stranger. She had to decide.

She did. She had not gotten where she was by lacking grit. She grabbed her phone and mobilized a team in the building. They were heading to Langley. _Butt in a sling, old girl, butt in a sling._

ooOoo

June had been anxious all day. Graham had not told her what the afternoon video conference was about. Back a couple of days ago, when it was first planned, it was to evaluate her work with the Intersect. But all he had told her when they talked early in the morning was that he wanted to meet with Bartowski alone for the first part of the meeting; he said nothing about what would happen in the second part, when she joined it. He asked June to bring a tranq gun and to have it ready. That had baffled her but she did; it was in her purse. She was to wait for a call from Graham and then re-enter for the rest of the conference. The tranq gun puzzled her. She could only think that Graham expected to say or do something to Chuck that would upset him.

She would do her job...but the thought of tranqing Chuck made her feel...odd.

It was almost time for the meeting. June positioned the monitor delivered in the early afternoon. She explained to Chuck that he would meet with Graham alone first, and then with both Graham and her later. She turned on the monitor. It was blank. Gray static. She headed outside.

She sat down in her Jeep to wait, near the door.

ooOoo

Chuck had a feeling of what it must be like to stand before a firing squad. The monitor screen showed nothing but gray static. It was like The Void was looking at him. He looked back at it, waiting for Graham.

ooOoo

Beckman and her team had gotten free at last from the near skirmish caused when they burst into Langley. She and the team plunged ahead, deeper into the building, hoping that Susie Lou's scuttlebutt turned out to be right. Beckman was sure of one thing. Graham would do this in secret, in a place where he thought no one could find him. In a place where he could savor the result. _Ghoul bastard._

They went straight to the bottom floor. Just as they were about to give up and go up to the next, one of the team found an apparent access panel that was actually a door. They went through and into a long hallway.

Old-style, shaky fluorescent bulbs strobe-lit the hallway, giving it an irregular netherworldly, hellish flickering look. The bare tile on the floor reflected the flickering light back to the ceiling, but the dominant impression was of a thick, moldy-grey atmosphere, an electrically maintained half-life in half-light. It was just the sort of place Graham would gravitate to, settle in. There was a door at the end of the hall. It was closed, but a light was on, a slice of it showing under the door. _Let us be in time._

In the back of her mind was an increasing worry. Could Chuck be the target? It would make a Graham sort of sense. Before the team went downstairs, she had stopped to call Casey, to send him to check on Chuck, but Casey had not answered. She left a message.

ooOoo

Casey was furious. Jeff and Lester had backed Jeff's van, Loretta, into the Crown Vic, crunching a front fender and shattering a headlight. Casey got out of the car, slamming the door murderously. Jeff saw him and pulled forward, only to twist and back up again, this time crunching the other front fender. Shattering glass; the other headlight. Casey had been planning to go to the storefront, to check on Chuck and June, when Loretta decided to lap dance on Crown Vic. _Shit on a Ritz._ Casey surveyed the destruction.

 _Goddamnit, I'm gonna rip their heads off._ Casey missed his phone beeping. He was too busy listening to Lester explain how he and Jeff were going to sue him for whiplash.

"My car was parked, you idiot!" Casey growled, low and harsh.

Lester gulped and his voice squeaked. "Yes, purposely parked _in our way_. We back up right here, unencumbered, every day. We have the right of way. We will _sue_! Sue, I tell you!" He was now playing to a gathering crowd of rubberneckers.

A patrol car pulled up.

"Shit," Casey muttered.

ooOoo

Chuck's bag was on the floor behind the passenger seat. They were going to stop by the apartment later and get Chuck some fresh clothes. June looked at the door then shrugged to herself. She grabbed Chuck's bag and put it on the passenger seat beside her. She unzipped the side pocket. There was a small box with a clear plastic lid. Inside was a thin circlet of hair. Blonde. June felt a flash of rage. _Walker_.

ooOoo

Chuck looked at his watch. It was a few minutes past time. H Hour had come and went. Where was Graham? The screen was still staring, static grey. _H Hour. D Day. Doomsday._

ooOoo

Jund unzipped the top of the duffle bag. Clothes. The warm, light odor of Chuck wafted out, an odor June had begun to enjoy at her apartment; she had put the Lysol away. But she took no time to enjoy it now. She rummaged in the bag. Nothing of interest.

But then she noticed that a rolled up pair of socks was oddly heavy. She unrolled them. A burner phone.

ooOoo

Graham was ready. He took a deep breath. He turned on the monitor. He could see Bartowski. Bartowski could see him. He gave Bartowski a big smile, something to remember. He put his hand on the 'Enter' button. He whispered, "Goodbye, Chuck. Enjoy hell."

ooOoo

June looked at the phone. Why did Chuck have it? She started punching buttons. Texts. Between _S_ and _C_. Huh, _S_? She scrolled down, saw her own name.

 **The longest day with Thorne.**

Scroll. Angry.

 **I *love* you….**

Pause.

Scroll. Very angry.

 **Marry me?**

Pause.

Pause.

Scroll. Rage, blinding rage, immediate and incarnadine.

 **Yes.**

"No!" June grabbed her purse, dropped the burner in and freed the tranq pistol, almost in one motion. Her purple-black eyes turned wholly black, matching her face, blackened by rage: her only purple was her ribbon. She was wearing her purple ribbon.

 _Walker_. Always. Fucking. _Walker_. Always. Always. She could see Walker in memory, in the crosshairs of a scope. Walker.

She opened the storefront door and screamed the name of her tormentor: "WALKER!" Wild, she thought of Graham's instructions. She fired a dart into Chuck's neck. He crumpled.

ooOoo

Graham hit 'Enter'. He heard a scream: "Walker!" He jerked in his chair, and his hand clicked the toggle switch accidentally. He saw what Burbank saw. The program started. He could not...look...away.

ooOoo

June stared into the screen. Her mind filled with images. She felt the monster, the monster, felt it feeding on the images, strengthening, yet hungrier with each image instead of less hungry. Pain. Pain. Pain. It wanted pain, craved it, coveted it, lusted for it. June's pain would not be enough. A start, oh, yes, yes, a start, but it would never be enough. More pain. _More_ pain. More _pain_. The images stopped. June dropped the pistol and opened her mouth, a howling scream ripped from her throat, primitive and anguished.

And then her scream was answered, like wolf calling to wolf. A scream from the monitor's speakers. Hate calling to hate. Dark to dark. Alone to alone. The screams stopped. June craned around wildly, looking for everything, looking for nothing...looking for Walker. She had only one thought, the last of her thoughts before the monster began to feed and starve. _Walker_. She careened crazily through the doors, slamming them.

She was gone.

ooOoo

Graham felt hands in his mind. Dirty hands. Bloody hands. Cold hands. They were squeezing, ripping, pounding. He tasted blood, hot and thick. Coherent thought abandoned him. The hands laid waste to his mind. He screamed from the very center of his being, as that center crumbled. He slumped in his chair.

ooOoo

Beckman and her team found him slumped there. He had nearly bitten off his tongue, and blood ran down his chin onto his white dress shirt. He was alive but unresponsive. Beckman called for medical assistance. Next to Graham, the laptop screen read: 'Program Ended." She looked at Graham as one of her team members wiped the blood off his chin.

 _He had the Intersect now._

ooOoo

Casey raced the battered Crown Vic across town. He had gotten the message from Beckman. _If those two clowns caused me to be too late..._ Visions of mayhem filled Casey's mind. He hit the uneven spot in the entrance to the parking lot and the Crown Vic momentarily left the ground before crashing heavily back down.

Casey slammed on the brakes. Thorne's Jeep was nowhere in sight. _Shit, shit, shit._ He ran to the storefront. The door was cracked, open. He pulled out his pistol and yanked the door back, entering in a crouch. Chuck was there, spread out on the ground, a tranq dart in his neck. Casey rushed to him and felt for a pulse. _Yes, strong. Lester lives another day._ A monitor that had not been in the store before was on a stand in front of Chuck, the power on but no picture showing.

Casey got out his phone and called Beckman.

ooOoo

 _Earlier that day_

Garland had her hand on Bryce's ass. Not for long, but for long enough. She stared over his shoulder at Sarah and smiled. _I'm going to sleep with your husband and you can't stop it._ Sarah found the whole pantomime nauseating, but she forced herself to stare back, but then to be the first to look away. Garland's smile grew more satisfied. She dragged her hand across Bryce's ass slowly. Sarah kicked a little at the carpet to enhance the act and picked up another cookie from the tray the server brought around.

Joe rolled over. She gave Sarah a significant glance, then she said, "How are you, Mrs. Anderson?" Sarah mumbled in response, actually saying nothing but managing to look distressed. "Yes," Joe answered, as if responding to a request. "I'd be happy to show you the rest of the house."

They started away. It took them a couple of minutes to find an unoccupied room. "Joe, are you ready?"

Joe displayed a key and a toothy grin. "Ready, Miss Moneypenny." Sarah shook her head. "Joe, please be serious. This is dangerous for all of us, but maybe especially you."

Joe nodded, the grin on her face evaporating. "Ok. Gretta's office is down the hallway there. The hallway dead ends, so no one should come back this way. I just need you to let me know if someone heads down the hall."

"I will cough if anyone comes your way. But how will you get out of the office if someone does?"

Joe smirked, a hint of malice in her eyes. "Gretta's office adjoins a bedroom."

"Of course it does," Sarah said flatly.

"It looked like Bryce had her _full_ attention. We should be fine." Josephine got a funny look on her face. " _I'll be back_. I always wanted to say that." She rolled down the hallway. Sarah stood for a moment, looking out a window into the garden. She promised herself she would not think of Chuck, but of course, she did. New Orleans with Chuck would be so much fun. A lot of fun. He'd love the Ignatius J. Reilly statue on Canal Street.

Sarah heard footsteps and looked up. Gretta was coming in her direction, pulling Bryce behind her. Sarah stepped back behind a large plant.

"C'mon, Bryce, I have waited long enough. We can talk business later. Right now, I want to get busy, and all the words I want to hear from you had better be four-letter words." Sarah could see them well enough to watch as Gretta leaned close to Bryce. Sarah could not hear what was Gretta was saying but she could guess. She was supplying Bryce with his four-letter vocabulary. When she finished, she pulled Bryce's face to hers, kissing him deeply and hungrily. Bryce's hands slipped around Gretta's waist.

Sarah was about to cough when Gretta pulled back. "So, Mrs. Anderson, she's quite a looker, tell me why we're about to do what we're about to do. Is she _cold?_ I get a frigid, icy vibe from her, I admit. I promise I am _not_ icy, Bryce. I will scream for you if you want," she whispered.

Gretta laid her head on Bryce's chest and let her hands wander down his sides. Bryce cupped her face and pulled her to him for another kiss. He kept his eyes open and searched around him. Sarah waved her hand, got his attention. She made a gesture, telling him to find somewhere else to go. It would be best if she did not have to cough, call attention to herself.

Bryce shut his eyes and pulled away from the kiss. "Do you think that there might be some corner of the garden without anyone around. I'd like to see...you...in the sunlight."

Gretta hummed in pleasure at the compliment and at the thought. She took Bryce's hand and led him back the way they had come.

Sarah was beginning to get worried about Joe. But then she saw her, rolling down the hallway. When she reached Sarah, she handed her a piece of paper. A date and a location. "Piece of cake," Joe commented, smirking, victorious.

"And we're just in time. The meeting is the day after tomorrow."

ooOoo

Chuck was on the couch at Casey's. Devon and Ellie were there too, tending to him. He seemed fine physically, other than the tranquilizer. Casey told them he would likely be out another hour or so, given the dart that was used.

Casey had talked at length with Beckman. She told him that Graham had been taken to the hospital in an ambulance. Not long after, she added, she was on the phone with the President, explaining Graham and the chaos at Langley. That conversation, the President had told her, was not over. It would resume when more of the facts were in hand.

The laptop and Susie Lou's lab were under guard.

The primary question was what had happened in Burbank?. It stood to reason that Thorne had tranqed Chuck. But why? Where was she? The hope was that Chuck would know.

The unspoken worry on everyone's part was that Chuck had downloaded the current prototype. He showed nothing like the signs that Graham did, so that made them think he had not downloaded it, but they would not be sure until he woke up.

ooOoo

Susie Lou stood hand-in-hand with Dan outside Graham's hospital room. "I did not like that man," Susie Lou admitted, "but I would never have wished this on him. He will live, the doctors believe, but no one expects him to recover." She grew quiet and then tears ran down her face. "My research did that. I...I…"

Dan pulled her to him. "Graham did this to himself, Susie Lou. That man lived his entire life in a deep Karma canyon. Today was the flash flood. C'mon, let me take you to my place. I'll make you something to eat." He pulled gently on her hand and she followed, taking one last look at Graham through the narrow window in the wooden door.

ooOoo

Casey saw it first. Chuck stirred on the couch. Ellie jumped up from the chair she had been sitting in, cross-legged and barefoot, and covered the distance to him in almost a leap. Casey was right behind her.

"Chuck, Chuck...It's Ellie. Chuck?"

"Yeah, yeah, right, Ellie...Don't shout. Long day of files." Casey watched as the kid put his hands down on the couch and pushed himself up off it a foot or two. He looked around. "Wait, what am I doing at Casey's?"

"You got tranqed, son," Casey explained. Chuck looked at Casey, the lights coming on, finally.

"Oh. Right, right. I heard June scream Sarah's name, and then I felt a pinch on my neck." Chuck reached up and rubbed his neck.

Casey considered that information as Elle and Devon shared an outraged glance. "Look, kid, why would Thorne scream Sarah's name? That makes no sense. Walker wasn't here, was she?"

Chuck shook his head. "I don't know. Where is she?"

"We don't know. Her car was gone. Think, kid. What happened?"

"I was supposed to video conference with Graham. It was weird. Just me. Thorne left. Went outside. I was waiting for Graham to appear when June screamed. All I remember is falling down, just as the monitor started to finally light up."

Ellie broke in. "Chuck, Graham was trying to force you to download the current prototype of the Intersect. It would have damaged your mind. Something happened and it all backfired on Graham. He downloaded it and now he is in a hospital in DC. The prognosis is bad. Do you think June might have downloaded it."

Chuck shrugged. "I don't know, but she would have likely been looking right at the screen."

Casey had been listening but also thinking. "Look, June's been showing signs of non-professional interest in you, Chuck," Ellie's head whirled around and her mouth open, but Casey ignored her, "was there any way she could have found out about you and Sarah?"

Chuck shook his head, then stopped. "I had my duffle in the Jeep. There was a...burner in it that Sarah and I have used to text each other. There...uh...might have been some...romantic talk on it…"

"Sexting, dude! Awesome!" Devon started to dive in for a bro-hug when Ellie froze him with a glare.

Casey chuckled. Chuck blushed. "No, nothing even R-rated, really. But a few 'I love you's..." Casey saw him bite his tongue. Something he wasn't saying.

Casey set the thought aside and laughed to himself as Ellie danced a silent jig and clearly contemplated diving in for a bro-hug herself. _Bartowskis._

"Well, June had it in for Sarah...And if she downloaded the Intersect…" Casey started.

"...And if she was crazy to begin with…" Chuck added.

"...Then who knows what the hell she might do," Ellie finished the thought.

"But she doesn't know where Sarah is, does she?" Devon joined in, trying to help.

Chuck looked at the floor. "I moved the picture from New Orleans, the one of Bryce and Sarah, onto the burner, El. Remember, you could see the name of the restaurant in the background. June can figure it out."

"Photo?" Casey wondered aloud.

"Ellie took it, had it taken. It was of Bryce and Sarah in a local coffee shop." Chuck stood up, wavered. Casey reached out to steady him. "Thanks, Casey, but June's ahead of us by hours. And I know it: she's gone to _get_ Sarah."

"Get?" Devon asked.

"Kill," Ellie answered.

* * *

 **A/N2** And there ya go. Tune in next time for more: Thorne arrives in New Orleans. Chuck and Casey follow. Gretta grows suspicious of Josephine. And more! Chapter 18, "Obsession".


	19. Chapter 18: Obsession

**A/N1** So, here I am again, more story in hand.

Those last two chapters, geez, huh? We are now in the middle of our final arc. Your generosity in reviews and PMs has been wonderful. Thank you! Please stay in contact. Keeping this story going and teaching my classes has meant that my days start early and end late. You folks have helped keep me at it. (And yes, I _could_ slow down, except when I get involved in a story, I can't focus on anything else until the chapter in my head is out, and then the next chapter starts to form, and...and, well, _I am the slave of me_. Oh, and I fly to Leipzig in a week, and I'd like to have the story done before going to Germany. So there's that.)

Don't own _Chuck._

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 _Obsession_

* * *

"Some are of the opinion that there is no gate  
That is their opinion  
There is no way of knowing except to go  
Through it"  
-R. D. Laing, _Knots_

* * *

She woke up feeling a contentment physical and emotional, radiating outward from two loci, one, her heart, the other, a sensitive place...lower...than her heart. She yawned and then giggled her way out of it, images of last night replaying _(Oh, oh, in technicolor glory, in languorous slow motion, and with theme music! Sixpence None the Richer, 'Kiss Me'_ ) through her head. She rolled over, not caring that she was naked and had rolled from beneath the covers. She kissed his lips as softly as she could. His tousled mop of hair was pushed to one side by the pillow, making a funny shape. She giggled again, weightless and free. He smiled, then slowly opened one very blue eye.

"Good morning, Susie."

"A _very_ good morning, Dan."

ooOoo

 _The night before, LA_

Drumming her fingers on the armrest of her seat, Jan Summer tried to relax her mind, quiet the pain. It would not work. One face, one name, one destiny, one destination: Sarah Walker. She had, of course, stashed a go-bag in Burbank. She had money, credit cards, enough for weeks, even living high. But that was not her plan. Her plan was to kill Sarah Walker. No, it was less a plan than a physical need, like thirst, but far, far worse. She could think a little, consider tactics and plots, but only for so long as they took her toward Walker, oriented on her.

One day at the group home, when she was a child, she had played a video game someone had donated. She was flying...an X-wing fighter, trying to get a shot into...a ventilation shaft. _Details are foggy. Can't think straight._ She remembered the feeling of being in the tube or tunnel or whatever it was, of being forced along a particular path, unable to veer away without destroying herself. That was how she felt now. She just had to follow the path, she could not veer from it. _Compelled. Obsessed._ All that mattered was the target. _Oh, yes._

A flight attendant stopped by her seat. "May I get you something to drink?"

Her head was on fire, inside. She had chewed all the Excedrin she had put in her purse for Chuck. It was not helping. She felt like she had only radio-control of her body, as if it were in the first-class seat and she was really somewhere in coach with a transmitter.

She nodded. "How about bourbon ?" _Maybe it will help._ He smiled at her and went to get it. _A bourbon for Burbank._ She knew would never be back.

Six hours in the air. A few more hours to gather weapons and supplies. Then the hunt would begin.

ooOoo

Chuck was in the Crown Vic. He and Casey were almost to the airport. He had called Sarah with his old cell phone as soon as he realized what was happening. He still had the cell number from when she was in Burbank. He prayed she had kept the phone.

She had.

ooOoo

" _Chuck? Is that you?"_

" _Thank God, Sarah."_ He could have called her all along, but he had assumed she destroyed the phone. She hadn't. Another significant fact. Still, it was like Sarah to buy the burners and use them. It was her way of starting over; she was a complicated woman, and he loved her and her complications.

" _What's wrong?"_ He could hear her fear for him over the line.

" _Long story. Casey and I are coming to New Orleans. Thorne...Thorne has the current Intersect prototype. It's made her crazy. I am sure she's coming for you."_

Sarah was silent for a moment. " _But Thorne, she's already…"_

" _Yeah, I know...crazy. She found my burner. She must have seen our texts."_ Chuck glanced at Casey, leaving it at that. " _She tranqed me and shouted your name. We found her CIA Jeep at a hotel near the airport. She's gone under, switched identities. We don't know if she is flying direct or taking some more complicated route. But my gut tells me…"_

" _I trust you, Chuck. If you think she's coming, then she is. We're in the middle of things here. We just got an important lead on Fulcrum. Maybe the biggest we have ever had. We are going to have to follow it up. I can't exactly go into hiding."_ Silence for a moment. " _I get that this is bad, Chuck, but...you're coming here?...I get to see you? See my boyfriend?"_ Pause. Then, experimentally: _My...husband-to-be?"_

Chuck's felt warm all over in the midst of his panic. " _Yeah, about how you would expect this to go for us, huh?"_

Sarah laughed softly, bells giving Chuck wings. " _Par for our course, I would say…But, Chuck, why is Graham allowing this? Has Beckman gotten more control of the team or something?"_

" _Um...Yeah. But probably not the way you think. Graham had everything set up to force me to download the prototype. June blew his plan to hell, and they both got what was meant only for me. He's in a coma at the hospital. No one is….optimistic."_

" _Oh, my God! You are really ok, Chuck? Oh, my God, I could have lost you….Too bad about Graham, I guess…."_

Chuck waited a second. " _That's one funeral dad's suit will stay in the closet for…"_

Sarah paused. " _I could have lost you...before we...you know."_ Her voice was small and intense.

" _Before I get to wear you."_ Chuck had now forgotten about Casey behind the wheel.

" _Listen to me, Chuck Bartowski. Once you...put me on...you'll never take me off."_

" _Wash and wear?"_

" _Something like that."_

" _Look, you need to explain this to Bryce. You two need to make sure you are as secure as you can be. Beckman got Thorne's file, the real one, I think. She's a marksman...um...markswoman? Anyway, stay away from windows."_

" _Ok."_

" _Call you as soon as we touch down in New Orleans. Our flight is a red eye. We'll be there in the wee hours. Be safe, Sarah."_

" _You too. I love you so much, Chuck."_

" _I love you so much too."_

Chuck remembered Casey. Casey was pulling the Vic into the parking garage, a grin on his face in the midst of grimness. Chuck only then realized that they were driving without headlights.

ooOoo

Beckman finished the second call with the President. He had spent most of it backtracking while trying to seem nonetheless presidential, like he was not partly to blame for Graham's wild stunt. _Whatever._ The team was hers again, if it could survive June Thorne. She had all her agents in New Orleans on the look-out for Thorne. A team was outside the hotel Chuck told her Sarah and Bryce were using.

Beckman had talked to Susie before the President. Beckman did not understand the differential responses to the Intersect. Why had it cored Graham and not Thorne? Why was Thorne up and running, running amuck?

"Educated guess? Each mind is unique, General. From what you have told me, Thorne has already had or been living through some kind of psychological break. Graham's mind was dark but orderly. Brittle, I guess I'd say. Thorne's been functioning on the edge for months or years. Her mind must be particularly strong, even if not orderly, perhaps because it isn't orderly. Deep existential shocks have already been endured. She can't last long, a few days perhaps, and she won't be exactly high-functioning, although the prototype will allow her increased adrenaline, increased strength and tolerance for pain and injury. She's like a wounded animal, much more dangerous _because_ of her wounds. Her sense of self will come and go. She will know little but the mission she seems to have assigned herself…"

"So, Walker is in real danger, and anyone with her?"

"Oh, God, General, _yes,_ "

Beckman gave Susie Lou Ellie's number. Susie Lou and Dan would fly to Burbank later in the day.

ooOoo

Bryce was throwing things around the room, but he had helped Sarah close the blinds, at least. He was far worse than he had been about Joe. The mission had come off the rails. A whole new threat, a wild card, was now part of the game. And just when the game had gotten...delicate. Bryce had extracted himself from the tea without allowing Garland all she wanted. But she was not going to wait long. She would almost certainly be pushing for consummation tomorrow. Evidently, she had more or less told Bryce that as he said goodbye to her.

Sarah was unsure what Bryce was really doing with Garland at this point. It was not that Garland could not go to the Executive Meeting...unfulfilled. Bryce seemed to want to sleep with her. Nothing he said made it necessary that he do so. They might even be able to use Josephine to keep Garland occupied somehow. How had she kept herself from facing this fact about Bryce in the past? Garland was part of the outfit, the watch, the clothes, the gun. This was all part of some script Bryce was following in his head, part of him as the dashing star of a Bond film. Garland was his next Bond girl, this installment's Octopussy. Sarah's stomach flipped when she realized that she had been that in earlier films. _Jesus. Some men. Some spies. Ellie was right. I am brilliant at lying to myself. Thank God for Burbank. Thank God for Sam._

ooOoo

June pushed the wad of cash into the man's hand. He slowly let his gaze run up and down her, suggesting that there might be...other forms of payment. She thought of Bryce, of Chuck; she thought of Walker. _Marry me?_ She pushed the cash at him again, making him take it, foreclosing on other possibilities. He handed her the pistol and the rifle, the boxes of ammo. She would not be in any bed until this ended. Until Walker was asleep, underground.

ooOoo

Joe was sitting in the garden. She had positioned her chair so that the dawn light reached her. Gretta came out, carrying a coffee tray with cups and a pot and a stack of beignets. She put it down on the table. Joe reached for a beignet and knocked her sweater off her lap as she did. Gretta picked it up. Ping, ping, ping. The key to Gretta's office plinked onto the ground. Joe leaned over quickly, just able to reach it, palmed it and then took a beignet. Gretta gave her a curious look, then she started pouring coffee for both of them.

They ate in silence.

ooOoo

Sarah heard a knock at the door. "It's...uh...Charles Carmichael." The voice came through the door. Sarah almost ran to the door and pulled it open. Bryce was immediately beside her, and he slipped his arm around her.

"Hiya, Chuck,not-so-long-time, no see," Bryce said, as he looked pointedly at Sarah and gave her his Farmer Montgomery smile. Chuck's grin froze.

Casey, standing beside him, grumbled immediately. "Son of a bitch."

ooOoo

Dan had her suitcase in his hand as Susie Lou locked her apartment. They'd crossed town so she could get her things. She now was, she realized, working for the NSA, for Beckman. She and Dan were heading to Burbank to provide support for the team in New Orleans. Susie Lou was going to be working with Chuck Bartowski's sister. The Intersect's sister. If Graham had told her, Susie Lou could have done so much more, maybe so much better with the prototype. Well, she wasn't sorry to hear Beckman say that the Intersect Project was being scrapped. The only Intersect was Chuck Bartowski. Her job now was to make sure he was ok, and to help him and his sister understand the thing in his head. Beckman had given Susie Lou copies of Ellie's notes. Clearly, the sister-Bartowski was a brilliant woman. Susie Lou was eager to meet her. She planned to study the notes more on the plane. When she was not kissing Dan.

ooOoo

Sarah elbowed Bryce in the stomach hard. _How dare he?_ He doubled over and she launched herself bodily into Chuck's arms, her lips on his. _Chuck! He's here._ She pulled back a little and looked at Casey.

"Hey, John. Great to see you. The team's back together, I guess."

Casey nodded, watching Bryce. "Yep. But make sure Larkin knows he's the fat kid we chose last."

Bryce was wheezing, still trying to breathe.

ooOoo

Casey was in the hallway, a few doors down from Chuck's room. Even though neither Chuck nor Casey had slept on the plane, Chuck had shown Sarah the room key and the two of them practically ran from the Anderson's room to Chuck's. Casey kept watch over them. But he made sure he was far enough away that he would not...overhear. He was happy for the kids, but he was not ready for an earful of... _Reese's Cup-_ making.

Love. Not really something Casey had reflected about much, not since Europe and his loss of the beautiful, raven-haired photographer. He had given up Kathleen long ago, and it was foolish, a sentimental indulgence really, to stand there regretting his past. But he was; he did. He had made his bed and he would sleep on it alone. But as he got older, his gut had told him that his decision to put duty ahead of everything else was an empty one. Duties were not abstract. They existed, if they existed, in the barnyard of fleshly human relationships, not in some icy realm of pure logic, strict law.

And letting petty bureaucrats and paper generals decide your duty for you was a coward's way out, fucking farming out your backbone, no matter how much your chest swelled when they praised you. How could a man like Graham know anything about duty; he had no god-rotting clue how to be a human being. Casey hated to think it, in a way, but the moron, the kid, was right. People mattered. Not as some aggregate, another abstraction. But as the people they were, individually. _Hang the goddamn liars. Hang their goddamn compromises._ Casey wanted to find June, stop her. He wanted the team to go back to Burbank. He wanted to work with Chuck and Sarah. No, not with them, beside them. _Bartowski was some kind of bureaucrat-free zone. Beckman gets it, at last, I think. I hope. Godddamnit._

ooOoo

Chuck was seated on the bed. Sarah was standing in front of him. She felt nervous, shy and tremulous, like a girl. His eyes were full of warmth and desire. She knew what she wanted. But Sarah had to make herself say this.

"Chuck?"

"Yeah, Sarah?" He reached out and took her hand, rubbing it while she drummed up her courage.

"About...that text. If you aren't _sure_. If you've had second thoughts. I...I would understand. There's so much about me you don't know. My childhood, my years with the Company, my time as Graham's Enforcer."

Chuck nodded. "True. But, Sarah, there's so much about me you don't know."

She huffed and giggled at the same time. "What don't I know, Chuck?"

"Um...my locker combination in junior high. The name of the teacher I had a crush on my freshman year of high school. She...um...she taught _physical science._ "

"Of course, she did."

"You don't know all about my time with Jill, what I felt or thought I felt. You don't know my favorite snack when I'm depressed."

"Buy More cheeseballs."

Chuck stared at her. "How?"

"I've seen the way you stare at them when you think no one is looking, Chuck." He laughed. "But, Chuck, those things...they're important, but, you know, not important, like the things you don't know about me…"

"Sarah, there are lots of things about me you don't know, including things I am ashamed of, things I did that were wrong. And I wasn't under orders when I did them. Inattention, unkindness...lies I have told. I can't change those things now. They are on the record. But I do think I've changed, sometimes because of the things I did...I know I have changed, and for the _better_ , because of you." He paused.

He gave her a funny look and she could see he was coming to a decision. "On a mission, just after you left, I found this hacker's thumb drive, Sarah. I took it, an act of rebellion...I looked at it. Your file was on it, the whole thing, I guess. I could have looked, but I didn't." He stared at her, earnest. "I was angry and hurting, but I didn't..."

She felt tears sting her eyes. She bent down to look him directly in the face. "Why not, Chuck? All those things you've asked...you could have known. At least all the Company stuff."

Chuck shrugged. "Sarah, the things Graham ordered you to do, the missions. Are they somehow all you are? Do they define you? Do you right now, here, at this moment, feel like the person who took those orders and did those things? Would you do those things again? Take those orders again?"

She reflected on the question. It took a moment to find herself, her voice. "No, Chuck. I'm not that woman, not that spy. She's part of who I am, but she is not who I am. There is more in me, more to me, than Graham knew, than he would let me find out." Pause. "Than my dad would let me find out," she glanced at Chuck but his expression did not change, he did not ask any question about her dad, "or the Company, in general, would let me find out. There are parts of me that I….lulled to sleep so that I could cope, could survive. But those parts are awake now. And they aren't just...along for the ride. They have changed who I am, changed the spy I was…" She halted, out of words, not entirely sure she was making sense.

But Chuck nodded in understanding. "You can tell me what you need to tell me, Sarah. And I promise to listen and to care, God, I promise to care so much. _About you_. But there is nothing you can tell me that will make me give you up, give us up. Nothing. I'm not a fool, even if…" he gave her her favorite crooked smile, "even if I act like one sometimes. My eyes are open and I see you, Sarah Walker, and I have since you walked into the Buy More." He looked at the ground, then back up. "Where are we right now, Sarah?"

She was confused. "You mean, here, in this room?"

"No, I mean what city are we in?"

Sarah answered, unsure of Chuck's point. "New Orleans."

"And how did _you_ get here?"

She swallowed, her tongue thick in her mouth. "I left you for a deep cover mission with Bryce."

"And what did you call me on the phone a little while ago?" A smile was lifting the corners of Chuck's mouth.

"My...'husband-to-be'?"

"And how did I get to be that?"

"I said yes when you proposed." She could not fight back the smile. It claimed her whole face.

"And did I ask you before or after you left for New Orleans?"

"After."

"And after you did what?"

"After I returned to Burbank."

"Don't you see, Sarah? _You-not Graham's Enforcer-you_ came back. Came back for me. You. It's _you_. It's always been you for me. And it will always be you. You are the...the..." he searched for the word, "...the axis of reference for my whole life. Everything turns around you. You, the woman with your past. But that past doesn't change anything. How could it? It's done, gone. It can only hurt us if we let it dictate our future. I let my past steal five years of my life. Let's not let our pasts steal anything more from us."

She wiped tears off her cheeks, a feeling of relief, of repletion, suffusing her head to toe. "'Axis of reference', Chuck? Is that the best you can do, sweet nothings-wise? I've been imagining words maybe...more intimate, even maybe, graphic, but less _technical_..."

He smiled and stood, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked around the room, checked the locks on the door and tightened down the blinds. When he got back to her, his shirt was open. She slid her hand inside.

"Now, I want to slip into something more comfortable," his voice darkened, deepened with desire.

"I'm assuming that would be me?" Her voice had darkened too, and she could hardly speak at all. Her mouth had better plans.

He put his hand around her waist and pulled her to him firmly. "That's what I'm hoping. Prepare yourself for some honey-sweet sweet nothings, wife-to-be."

Sarah melted into his embrace. Sam melted into his embrace. They melded together, became one in his arms. She was one, not two; she and Chuck were one, not two. After a frenzied moment of clothes-shedding, he slipped into her, preliminaries completely unnecessary. They had been preparing since they first met.

She forgot her past. She stopped worrying about the future.

She was fully present.

* * *

 **A/N2** Ah, the Big Easy.

 _New Orleans/_

 _A city to walk in/_

 _So a city to write poetry in/_

 _The streets are poetry/_

 _Toulouse/_

 _St. Louis/_

 _Music tye-dyes the air/_

 _Neon_

Tune in next time. June locates her prey. Gretta spies on Josephine. Ellie and Susie Lou team up. Devon takes Dan out for drinks (no, really). And more! Chapter 19, "Under the Scope".


	20. Chapter 19: Under the Scope

**A/N1** A dense chapter of events and context, backstory. Making sure depth of field is adjusted for the finale.

Drop me a line, please. I could use the push.

Don't own _Chuck._

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

* * *

CHAPTER NINETEEN

 _Under the Scope_

* * *

"What doesn't kill me makes me stronger!"  
"Right. Until it kills you."  
-response to Nietzsche

* * *

June sat staring at the cracked plaster wall of her dingy hotel room. Her rifle with its scope and her pistol with its silencer were comfortable on the stained bedspread. She was on one end of the bed. She was staring at the cracks, unsure whether they were in the wall or in her. She has spent the last hour feeling like she had forgotten something, but she had forgotten what she had forgotten.

Things kept flashing in her mind. She could not tell if the cause of the flashes was external or internal or both. Each flash was a splash of popping grease on her mind's raw, tender flesh. The pain was physical and psychological, agonizing, total.

Another flash: _June was small, very small, early in her time at the group home, very young. A woman stopped to visit. She was tall, at least she seemed so to the little June, and pretty, with platinum hair. She sat with June and played with her dolls, asking her about them. The woman seemed sad. She smoothed June's hair and straightened her dress. June noticed that the woman had bandages on her wrists, hidden by long sleeves but exposed when she reached out to June. She drew June into a hug and then she was gone._

 _Later, June heard two counselors talking. "Yes, that was June's mom. The court allowed her to see her daughter, but this is the first time she has come." Mother. Momma. June waited for her to return. She never did. Much later, June would learn that her mother succeeded at the failure her bandages covered. June hated her for that success, that failure...for that...and June lived in its dark shadow._

 _The wall is cracked or I am._ Walker's face seemed to be projected on the wall. Walker: Graham, Bryce...Chuck. All the men who mattered in June's life, Walker had claimed them all. Taken them from June. The way her mother took herself from June. The wall is cracked. I am. Or. Wall. _Can't focus on anything else. Can't. Focus. Walker is causing the pain. Walker is the pain. Can't hurt like this for long._

June stood and walked to the battered dresser. She leaned against it. Then she leaned further forward until her forehead was against the distorted mirror on the dresser. She looked into her own eyes. The only way to get any relief was to be in motion, making progress toward the goal.

June detached the scope from the rifle and slid it into her pocket. She put on a jean jacket and a Tulane cap she bought at the airport. She had tied her purple ribbon around her wrist; she had taken it from her hair to put on her hat.

She looked at the ribbon as her arm emerged from the sleeve of the jacket, traceries of purple around her wrist, and, for a moment, she was her mother.

Bleeding out.

ooOoo

June had located the coffee shop. She knew Bryce's habits. He would want coffee in the morning but would not drink the swill in the hotel. He and Walker had to be staying somewhere within walking distance of the hotel. She did not know if they knew she was coming. She did not know if they knew she had the burner. Assuming they did, assuming they knew she was coming was the only thing that made sense, tactically. That meant that they would be on their guard, and perhaps actually guarded. Getting to Walker was going to be a challenge. But there was no possibility of turning back or turning right or left. The mission was the mission. The mission was Walker. The termination of Walker. It took June an hour or so of walking to locate candidate hotels. After a few minutes of consideration, she narrowed the list to one. It fit Bryce, what she knew of him. Now she needed to confirm her guess.

She stopped at a drugstore on a corner and bought several packs of aspirin powder and a bottle of water. She could not stand to chew any more. She'd just dump the bitter powder straight on her tongue. She also bought a small notebook and a mechanical pencil. Outside the store, she opened a couple of powders and chased them with water. Bitter. So bitter.

She walked to a vantage spot near the hotel she had targeted. She got out her notebook and pencil and began taking notes on the comings and goings of people. She could see into the lobby through the large windows. She expected it to take time to identify the protection team. It did not. She flashed on three faces almost immediately, saw service records, photographs, and evaluations. But the flashes required several more aspirin powders just to keep herself from screaming.

So, there were three men guarding the lobby of the hotel. She had targeted the right one. Walker was there. Pain. Pain.

Flash: _Eighteen and leaving the group home. A small suitcase in her hand, her whole world inside it. She had no one. Nowhere to go. She was standing on the street, lost, when a car pulled up. The window went down. "You look like a young woman in need of direction," the man in the car said. "A friend of mine recommended you to me. He thought you might need a job and I might need someone like you. My name is Langston Graham…" She had nothing. No one. Nowhere to go. She got in the car._

Blood. Bleeding out.

ooOoo

Sarah was trying to catch her breath. What had happened between her and Chuck in the past couple of hours had been beyond comprehension. She had no categories, physical or emotional, for what had happened between them. _We made love_. That was all she really had as a category. But even that seemed not to be responsive to the uncontainable, cup-running-over reality of what had happened between them. Her body was still shaking periodically, aftershocks of the earthquakes she had endured. Chuck had his head pillowed on her bare breasts. He felt her trembling and smiled, enjoying her prolonged enjoyment. She felt him trembling. She smiled.

"We have to get up, Chuck. Casey must be exhausted. Bryce is going to get harder to handle each moment that we are gone. We need to start planning. We think an important Fulcrum meeting is going to happen near here tomorrow." Chuck raised his eyebrows and Sarah gave him a quick run-down of the mission, Garland and Josephine, the whole thing. He listened carefully, thoughtfully.

"Huh. I hope I can meet this Joe; she sounds like someone I'd like."

Sarah brushed her knuckles softly on his face. "She will like you too, no doubt."

"And Bryce and Garland?"

Sarah shrugged. "Let's just say that for Bryce, our mission has a sub-mission."

Chuck shook his head. "I suspect his sub-mission is his mission, and his supposed mission is the sub-mission."

Sarah chuckled. "That's a lot of 'mission', Chuck."

He grinned with half his face. "You inspired me, Sarah. Not that 'mission' was our only mission."

It took her a minute. Then she smacked him on the top of the head gently, the smack lingering and becoming a caress, entangling her fingers in his curls. "Goof. We have to get up."

He put his hands on the mattress to push himself up and she leaned forward, overcome by a rush of feeling, taking his face in her hands and kissing him. "I love you, Chuck. _This…"_ she somehow gestured with all of her to their bed, "...I have no words. I just love you."

He nodded his agreement, his eyes alight, and kissed her back. He stood up and started singing _Missionary Man_ , dancing away from the bed as he picked up his scattered clothing. She knew that song; Ellie had played a Eurythmics album one day in the apartment when she and Sarah were waiting for Chuck. Sarah let herself fall back onto her pillow, laughing freely, and then she jumped up and started singing and dancing with him. "...Believe, believe, believe…"

ooOoo

Sarah, Chuck, Casey, and Bryce were gathered in the Anderson's room. Sarah noted that Bryce had offered no apology for the stunt at the door and he had been pointedly ignoring any indication that she and Chuck were together. Casey kept looking at Bryce with a version of the same contempt Joe had, but Casey said nothing.

On the coffee table in the front of the couch Sarah slept on was a paper map of Louisiana. Bryce had circled the estate that was supposed to host the Executive Meeting, or at least so Garland's planner said.

"Having the Intersect here changes things," Bryce began, his tone business-like but with a spoonful of snide on the side. "If this meeting is as important as it seems to be, major players in Fulcrum will be there. The Intersect can perhaps identify them, see a pattern in who is present, that sort of thing…"

Casey rumbled, "Larkin, you of all people know the kid has a name."

Bryce scowled at Casey. "Oh, he does. You mean, his name is not 'kid'?" Casey's face twisted into an icy smile. "No, it's not. It's Chuck. And 'kid' is miles better than 'Intersect'. If you don't want to call him by name, you could just give him a more fitting title, like 'The Better Man'."

Bryce stood up and Casey did, too. Sarah stood up between them. "Look, I know that you two have a history, what with Casey killing you and all, Bryce. But let it go for now. Call Chuck by his name, Bryce."

Bryce smirked at her and then at Chuck. "Of course I know his name. I was just reminding some of us," he looked pointedly as Sarah and Casey, "that he is government property, an asset, nothing more."

Sarah opened her mouth to speak and Casey's hands became fists, but it was Chuck who replied. "Bryce, like Sarah said, let it go. You know, we were friends once, or I thought we were. I realize you had your reasons for what you did to me at Stanford. With the tests. I don't think those reasons were good ones. I have a mind of my own. I don't need you to substitute yours for mine.

"Maybe I thought too much of you back at college, maybe I deferred to you too often, let you make too many decisions...I don't know. But none of what I did justifies what you did. Sending me the Intersect was another decision of the same sort... God, with a friend like you, Fulcrum seems positively chummy…Just call me by my name, Bryce. And ease up on the _property_ crap. No one owns me. I don't own anyone. And you don't own anyone..."

ooOoo

Bryce let his eyes trail to Sarah as Chuck finished. But she was looking at Chuck, her feelings for him written on her face like a headline. Bryce scowled again. Sarah was supposed to be unreadable. He had never seen that look on her face before. She had been telling him the truth, he realized, his pride absorbing the blow. Although he kept discounting her claim, she had never loved him.

ooOoo

Joe was spooked. Things had been strange during and since breakfast. Beignets ate and coffee finished, Gretta gathered the plates and cups without making eye-contact with Joe. She left with the tray. Joe sat for a moment, cursing herself for the old fool she was. She should have remembered the key; failing that, she should have let it fall and left it on the ground, unconcerned. Instead, she grabbed it, almost unseating herself in doing it. Gretta had noticed. Joe had no idea if Gretta suspected what lock the key fit, but she might. It was no special looking key, brass and discolored from handling over the years. Many of the keys for locks in the house looked almost the same. Still, Joe felt a chill, even seated in the warming morning sunlight. She was not really frightened for herself, but she was frightened for the mission. For Sarah, and even a little for Bryce. Perhaps she might have endangered them.

She bit her lip and rolled her chair inside. She worked her way to her room. When she got there, she had a feeling of presence, a feeling that someone was in the room, or had been in the room. She scanned it. Everything looked as it had when she dressing this morning and the nurse who attended her helped her finish up.

Still...that feeling. Then she noticed that a folder on her small desk was crooked. It had been stationed parallel with the edge of the desk; Joe was a bit obsessive about little details like that. It was not much off parallel, but it was. The folder was the one in which the nurse put the printouts of Joe's daily schedule: medications, doctor visits, physical therapy, social events, etc. Joe did not keep her schedule secret, but she also did not normally share it with anyone, including Gretta. Gretta's schedule was the one that dictated to all others, not Joe's. As far as Joe could tell, there was nothing on the schedule that would raise any red flags. She straightened the folder and wheeled over to her nightstand. She picked up the novel she had been reading, and put it in her lap. As she entered the hallway, she heard a rustle of fabric, and turned her head just in time to see Gretta disappear. She had been watching Joe.

Joe had one thought: _That is not good_. But she went down the hallway as if she had seen nothing.

ooOoo

The meeting over, Casey called Beckman to tell her how matters stood. She told him she had a team in the lobby, and that there were two other agents stationed in the stairwells. She urged them to stay in the hotel as much as possible, particularly Sarah. The problem was that the Executive Meeting was an event at which the kid could do some real good, identifying the players perhaps or bringing the Intersect to bear on other factors. BFL was right about that. They just had to find a way to get him in position. And Casey knew: no matter what the danger to herself, Sarah would not let Chuck go without her. So they'd be in a two-front battle: Fulcrum to the left, Thorne to the right. _Goodie Goodie Goddamnit._

ooOoo

Devon and Ellie were waiting at baggage claim when Susie Lou and Dan got there. Introductions were made and luggage was claimed, and the four of them started out of the terminal. Almost immediately, Ellie and Susie Lou were engrossed in conversation. Dan glanced at Devon and Devon gave Dan a _What Can You Do?_ -look. Dan chuckled and shook his head.

The two women fell even deeper into conversation on the way back to the apartment. Ellie was explaining the gist of Chuck's story, his use of the Intersect, the nature of his flashes. Susie was listening keenly, asking questions, supplementing or qualifying Ellie's suppositions and guesses. Devon saw for the first time someone who could equal Ellie's focus. The two of them were lost in speculations, neurology and artificial intelligence swing dancing together, oblivious of everything else but the music and the steps. For Devon, Ellie was never sexier than when her mind was in hyperdrive. He was smart; he knew it; Ellie had a whole different set of gears. So, too, evidently, did Susie Lou. Dan looked out the window, peeking back at Ellie and Susie Lou, but not focusing on them for long. Devon could see what was happening. Each peek made it clear how hopelessly attached to Susie Lou Dan was, and how intimidating he found her.

ooOoo

Robert helped Joe into the car, then he folded up her chair and put it in the trunk. It was Joe's day to work at the Shelter for Abused Women and Children. She spent several hours there once a week, working at the front desk, and she filled in at other times as she could. It was often distressing, but it was worth it. Gretta's charity work was a commercial enterprise, a way of making herself seem an upstanding citizen. Joe's was real, unadvertised but effective.

Robert got behind the wheel and Joe saw him look at her in the rearview mirror. His gaze was thoughtful and troubled.

"Robert, what is it?"

"Miss Gretta, Josephine, she was asking me questions today about where you've been this week. I was told not to tell you; she said she would fire me. But…." He stopped and shrugged. "I thought you should know." Joe nodded and Robert started the car, backed up and then drove down the driveway.

 _This is definitely not good._

ooOoo

June did not stand in one place for long. She moved to a new vantage point after she had identified the team in the lobby. She knew there were likely others in the building. June's mind kept playing tricks on her, or she kept playing tricks on her mind. _Tricks mind on playing her._ _No coherence. Kill Walker._

She kept having fits and starts of clarity, never lasting long. Shards of memories. A tranq dart into Chuck's neck: acting on an order never given, punishing him, striking out at Walker. She had not wanted to hurt Chuck…. _Walker. He loves Walker. Graham loves Walker. Bryce loves Walker. Chuck loves Walker. June kills Walker._ Images. Images. Images. _Don't understand. Intersect!_ Images of herself. Her file. Pictures. Bodies. Bodies. Bodies. Bleeding out. Always bleeding out. _Momma, don't leave. Come back. "Who hurt your wrists, lady?" "The world, sweet girl, the world. The world hurts….That's all it ever does."_ Hurts. Everything hurts. _Walker. Graham, Bryce, Chuck, Momma. Walker._

Even with the mission imperative, June knew a frontal assault would not work. She would die before Walker did. _That was not allowed_. But Walker had to leave the hotel sometime.

June's head was a Chernobyl reactor. But she was not tired. She felt fresh and strong. She could bear the pain; she would bear the pain. She would find a way. They taught her at the Farm. _I learned how to hurt the world back._ Images. Bodies. Her file. Blood. Blood.

Bleeding out.

ooOoo

At the apartment, Ellie showed Susie Lou and Dan to Chuck's room. They stowed their stuff and came back to the living room.

Ellie launched back into conversation immediately. "Susie Lou, we've been talking about Chuck, but what about Thorne? What's the prototype doing to her?"

Susie Lou sat down in a chair and Dan leaned on its back. "I can't say anything for sure, but one of the problems with the prototype is the tug of war it creates between consciousness and...conscience. Graham wanted it to make agents hyper-conscious, luminous, the way we all feel on our best days, like we're tracking everything, aware of everything. But he also wanted it to...suppress conscience. I suppose what he really hoped was that he could find agents who lacked a conscience so that suppression would not be necessary." Susie Lou frowned, shaking her head. "I tried to get him to understand that...increasing consciousness...increases conscience...That the more aware, conscious, a person is, the more aware of value the person is too. Graham wanted something that was ultimately paradoxical. I told him that from early on but he would not listen."

She stopped, a thought occurring to her. "By the way, although I haven't met Chuck, my guess is that this is why the Intersect has worked for him as well as it has. He has conscience enough to withstand its demands on his consciousness.

"And despite what Graham wanted to believe, no one is devoid of conscience; it may be distorted or seared, but it is always there-even the sociopath has things he won't do. My guess is that Thorne's past, her regrets, the things that haunt her...the Intersect will dig up all her graves. Raise the dead. She won't be able to stop what she is doing, but she will be tormented the entire time she does it, until the torment finally breaks her…" Susie Lou's voice began to stumble. She cried as she finished. "And I created that thing in her head. I should have stood up to Graham; I should have walked. But I had nowhere to go, and I kept hoping he would change course, take my hints...that the Project could be used to do good. I lied to myself...and this is the result."

Dan came around the chair and crouched beside it. "No, this is not your fault. You are another of Graham's victims, Susie Lou, not his accomplice. Who knows how much blood that man has on his hands?"

ooOoo

Ellie and Susie Lou had fallen back into a conversation that neither Devon nor Dan could contribute much to. Devon suggested that he and Dan go get a drink. They got to the neighborhood bar, ordered beers and sat watching a soccer game with little real interest. Finally, Devon turned to Dan.

"Susie Lou's smart, huh?"

The beers came. Dan picked his up and took a swig then answered.

"God, yes. Ellie, too."

"God, yes," Devon replied.

Dan looked at him, then said what Devon expected. "I don't think I'm smart enough for her. I'm an NSA analyst; a good one. But I worry that she'll get bored of me."

Devon picked up his bottle, held it out so that Dan would hold out his (Dan did), and clinked it against Dan's. "Cardiac surgeon. Welcome to my world."

* * *

 **A/N2** Welcome, indeed. Writing June at this point while suffering a return of my own headache troubles is a weird _art-meets-life_ moment.

Tune in next time for Chapter Twenty, "Gifts and Losses".


	21. Chapter 20: Gifts and Losses

**A/N1** Final shuffle before the deck gets tossed in the air.

Thanks for everything, folks. As we head toward the end, how about letting me hear from you if you've been reading silently? And of course, I want to keep hearing from those of you who have been responding. Yes, I have written this quickly, but I hope the effort of thought that has gone into it is apparent.

Don't own _Chuck_.

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY

 _Gifts and Losses_

* * *

"And there's also 'To him that hath shall be given.' After all, you must have a _capacity_ to receive, or even omnipotence can't give. Perhaps your own passion temporarily destroys the capacity."

― C.S. Lewis, _A Grief Observed_

* * *

Beckman was appalled. She knew her mouth was hanging open. She had gotten the President to get her Graham's files. Immediately, a team of analysts was assigned. She was not shocked to find abuses there, no, not shocked at all.

But the patterns of abuse the analysts were turning up already, their systematicity, the length of time they had gone on...She had never suspected _that_.

Perhaps most shocking was Graham's Enforcer Project. Walker had been the golden girl chosen from a pool of candidates Graham had conscripted. All were young women, all from broken homes or no homes at all, all subjected to some form of abuse or other. But all were also young women with high IQs and athletic promise. Graham had been sifting through Child and Family Services documents for years, paying employees of the Services to help him identify candidates. The file on Walker showed that Graham had taken an interest in her father because of her, not the other way around. No one would likely have ever caught up with Jack Burton that fateful day if not for Graham's judgment that Burton's little girl showed 'high promise'. A guidance counselor at Walker's...then, _Jenny Burton'_ s...high school had put in a call to CFS, worried about the gifted but despondent girl she had met with a couple of times and observed in the hallways, troubled by her quiet aloneness and suffering. That phone call had been the unwitting beginning of Walker's career. It had started a chain of events that ended with her name in front of Langston Graham.

June Thorne was another conscriptee. But unlike Walker, her 'high promise' had turned out to be too dark for Graham. Even for Graham. Her pain and troubles ran too deep. Of course, Graham had not given up on her as an Enforcer candidate until that had become painfully clear, bloodily clear. And still, Graham, characteristically, did not drum her out of the Company or put her behind a desk. He used her for the occasional special mission, when it was to Graham's advantage for no trace to be left behind...Or examples to be made...and when the agent used was expendable. He had exploited the troubled woman, exponentially increasing her troubles and her pain but never giving her the status she desired, the acknowledgment she craved. Graham was frightened by June Thorne; she was a Wild Card of a sort far different from Walker. Walker's title was a nod to her consummate gifts, her ability to pass into and out of an environment without so much as shaking the grass, her ability to come out on top in any predicament. June was simply wild, uncaged.

 _Langston Graham. You...you..._

What was Susie Lou's term? _A first water son of a bitch. You weren't wrong, Susie Lou. You weren't wrong._

ooOoo

Gretta Garland had her phone to her ear. She was on hold at the Club. She glanced down at her legs, long, smooth, tanned. She exercised enough and paid enough for them. Her graceful feet were encased in gold sandals, her pedicure perfect and blood red, matching her manicure.

"Hello, Mrs. Garland?" It was the Club manager; she had insisted on speaking with him. He already sounded oily, obsequious. She knew that he wanted her. On her few trips to the Club, he had looked at her in ways that made it clear. She had enjoyed teasing him, but she would never sleep with him. _He is almost as old as I am._ She shuddered.

No, her current state of perfection was for Bryce Anderson. Today was going to be the day, she hoped, and she had felt a growing tightness low in her abdomen all day, the slow build of pressure before the geyser of release. The day would have been all glorious anticipation, followed by an expected more glorious pleasure, if not for Josephine.

Gretta had thought long and hard over the years, often, really often, about pushing the old bag into the garden fountain and leaving her to drown slowly…

But it would not do. Gratta _had_ murdered her husband, Josephine's adopted son. Josephine was not wrong in her suspicions. His body was entombed in the concrete of the garden fountain, a small project Gretta had given her young gardener/handyman, and for which she slept regularly with him to keep him hushed. She grinned lewdly at herself. _Well, not so hushed when he is behind me. Then he really is a gardener and a handyman. And loud._ She ran her hands slowly down her legs, along the path her eyes had earlier traveled.

Gretta kept Josephine around, kept her in style, because it was a good rebuff to the suspicions about Gretta's husband. She was an apparently devoted daughter-in-law. Josephine was a useful piece of decoration.

But Josephine and that key! Gretta would have thought nothing of it if Josephine had not been so quick to retrieve it, and if the Executive Meeting were not tomorrow night. Fulcrum was not a forgiving bunch. She did not need to be seen as the source of trouble on the eve of an important gathering. Several of the most influential members of Fulcrum were to be present, and planning for the long-term was to be the primary topic of conversation. These Executive Meetings happened only once a year and in absolute secrecy.

Or that was the idea. It seemed completely far-fetched that Josephine would have any knowledge of or interest in Fulcrum. Still…

"I am calling for my mother-in-law, Josephine Pollihue. I would be so happy if you could check with your trainer and see if she left her goggles there after her pool therapy class. She can't find them anywhere. Could you?" Gretta purred the last two words. She could almost see the manager become erect, stand tall.

"Of course, Mrs. Garland. We hope to see you here soon. Hold, please, I will be right back on the line." _Oh, yes, you want to be on this line._ "Mrs. Garland, the trainer says that Mrs. Pollihue did not attend her pool therapy class."

 _Shit. What was that old bag up to, her and that silent driver of hers? Maybe it was time for Josephine to expire due to 'natural causes'. She was as old as dirt, anyway._

ooOoo

Sarah was sitting on the couch in the Anderson's room, fuming. Bryce had insisted that she not relocate to Chuck's room because of the Anderson's cover. Sarah was willing to do it; she understood his point. But he had been insistent in front of Chuck, and in a way that kept suggesting that their cover was something they had worked _hard_ to maintain during their time in New Orleans. The leer that had been audibly present in Bryce's voice when Chuck had first knocked on their door had returned. Sarah knew Chuck knew better. Bryce knew Chuck knew better. But Bryce was going to leverage the past against Chuck, insisting on the Andersons as much as he could.

Both men had left the room. Chuck had gone back to his room to shower. Bryce had left the room to go and grab one of his suits from the hotel cleaners. He was unwilling to let them just deliver, as they normally did. He needed to give the suit a careful survey before accepting it, and, since he was often unhappy with the job done, it was simpler for the suit not to leave the cleaners until he had given it his ok.

Sarah shook her head. She understood the mission. She understood the very real threat from Thorne. (The vendetta seemed crazy, but she had learned that with the Intersect, all bets are off.) The truth was that nonetheless she desperately wanted to be with Chuck, wanted to be back where they had been in the early morning.

Sarah was getting steadily clearer about things. Leaving Burbank had shattered her lies and her self-deception. Her first priority now, as she told Chuck when she had gone back to Burbank, was him, was them. The addition of 'them' mattered, because although she was absolutely determined to protect Chuck, that was because he was _Chuck_ , the man she loved, and not because he was the Intersect, property of the U.S. government. She was surprised to find she had no interest in the spy life _per se_ ( _Maybe I never really was interested in that life. No one gave me any other options. Until Chuck)._ She was interested in it only to the extent that Chuck was required to live it because of the Intersect. She was Chuck's partner and he was hers, in every sense of that term. That was who she now was. That was who he now was. They were together in this, together at last.

Sarah had asked Casey to talk to Beckman. She wanted Beckman to arrange for her to be transferred to the NSA. And she wanted Chuck to be hired by the NSA. But she had told Casey to let that wait; Sarah would talk about that with Beckman once the situation in New Orleans had sorted itself out, Fulcrum and Thorne both. And once she and Chuck had a chance to talk it all through together. Bryce would undoubtedly remain CIA, indifferent ultimately to who was the Director, indifferent ultimately to anything except the matinee idol he had made of himself. He would remain CIA. That was good; that was how Sarah wanted it. Let the agencies divide them. She was done with Bryce; she had been done with Bryce for a long time.

She wondered how much of Bryce's continuing act Chuck was going to tolerate. Bryce's act was meant to humiliate Chuck in front of Sarah, to prove that Casey's 'The Better Man' comment was wrong. But it was pure Bryce to miss the fact that what he was doing was proving to everyone that Casey's line was exactly right. Chuck's self-control in the face of Bryce's pettiness shone; Bryce paled and paled in a comparison he kept forcing.

 _Self-control_. Sarah smirked to herself. She wanted to be back in bed with Chuck. She wanted to make him lose control as he had with her earlier. Never had she known herself to matter so much to another person. It was addictive, especially since her loss of control with him was her way of showing how much he mattered to her. All those years of icy self-discipline melted at Chuck's touch, and Sarah was perfectly content to let them melt. She had found herself in finding Chuck; she had found Chuck in finding herself. She was at home, and knew it, for the first time in her life.

ooOoo

Sarah's reflections were cut short by a knock. She went to the door and looked out through the door. Joe. _Huh?_ Sarah opened the door.

"Hi, Joe."

Joe wheeled herself into the room immediately, motioning for Sarah to shut the door. Sarah did.

"I can't stay long. But I think I am in trouble, and I worry that I may have gotten you in trouble too."

Sarah was about to speak when there was another knock at the door. Joe looked panicked. Sarah checked. It was Chuck. She opened the door and he smiled at her, for her. She stepped back.

"Chuck, this is Joe. Joe, Chuck."

"Ahhh," Joe said, her panic gone. The right man arrives _at last_." She looked at Sarah, who had leaned into Chuck and laced her hand into his. Joe looked Chuck up and down. "I don't know how or where you found him, but that man was worth your wait."

Sarah blushed intensely. Somehow, Joe's words touched her deeply, expressed her own feelings so completely. Chuck was a gift: the very best kind, a surprise. She was supposed to hate surprises. But she loved this one. She was going to receive it gracefully now, even if she had fumbled it before.

Chuck put out his other hand and shook Joe's. She grinned at him. But then she became serious. "I assume we can talk in front of Chuck?" Sarah nodded.

Joe told the story about her morning. The sweater. The key. The silent breakfast. Someone, Gretta, presumably, in her room. Gretta watching her, Gretta asking questions of Robert.

"All that's bad enough. But I got a call a little while ago from the trainer at the club. Someone found a pair of goggles in the women's locker room. They aren't mine. But he thought they were because Gretta called the Club to ask if I'd left goggles after my pool therapy. The trainer told her I hadn't been there. He thought nothing of it. And when the goggles were found, he thought perhaps I'd left them on a prior visit. The long and short of it is that Gretta now knows I wasn't where I said I'd be, and she's clearly suspicious. I worry that she'll start to wonder about the time you and I spent talking at dinner and touring the house, Sarah, and that her suspicions of me will become suspicious of you. And Bryce."

Joe stopped and twisted her mouth in distaste. "Oh, by the way, she was getting all dolled up expects Bryce will pull her string before tomorrow…"

Chuck laughed, caught off-guard by Joe's sharp tongue. Just then, the door opened, and Bryce came in, his suit encased in clear, thin plastic and hanging over his shoulder. He stopped when he saw Joe and Chuck.

Joe: "And there he is, the casket-robber himself…" Chuck laughed again but Bryce frowned and looked lost.

Sarah was chuckling softly but she tried to help Bryce out. "Oh, C'mon, Bryce, the opposite of a _cradle-robber_?"

Joe's laugh took on an edge of malice, but then she stopped laughing. "Is this really necessary, Bryce? I understand playing her along, but doing her? Pardon my bluntness."

The room chilled instantly. Bryce stood still. Finally, he draped his suit on the back of the couch. "Look, _Josephine_ , this may be a lark to you, and maybe it's prom for these two," he nodded at Chuck and Sarah, "but this is my job. I need Gretta to trust me. Tomorrow may come and go with Fulcrum still in place and with my best chance of getting to them still being Gretta Garland. If not today, then the day after tomorrow. I knew what she was like when I took this tack; I'll not bail because she is what I knew her to be." Bryce picked up his suit, stalked through the bedroom, into the bathroom and slammed the door. In self-righteous indignation.

"Is that right, Sarah, really, is this somehow necessary for the mission? There's no other way to stop Fulcrum, except for him giving Gretta what she wants?" Joe seemed genuinely puzzled.

Sarah shook her head. She spoke quietly "No, of course not. But that's the plot that Bryce has sold himself. Gretta's invested this much time; she'd invest more. She might even like it if the chase went on and on." Joe nodded her head slowly in agreement as she considered that.

"And it's not like she's been in an empty bed pining for him," Joe offered. "She often has the gardener doing extra rooting around…"

Chuck cleared his throat then spoke. "Back to the other problem. Sarah's told me about meeting you and so on. If Gretta's suspicious, and if she says something to you, couldn't you claim that Sarah has been hurt and upset and that you've been trying to comfort her? You skipped your appointment to help her. It explains why you were here, and," Chuck gulped and shook his head, looking at the bathroom door, "it might add to Gretta's interest."

Joe considered it. "Yes...that's true. In fact, she'd like it even more if she thought I was more involved, more disapproving than usual. I should have thought of it myself, but, frankly, I can't keep in mind that Sarah is supposed to have any interest in Bryce, let alone supposed to be his wife. I've known since we met that her heart was somewhere else, with someone else. You're lucky, Chuck. This," she smiled at Sarah, "is a most remarkable woman."

Chuck glanced at Sarah, his eyes impossibly full. "Yes, yes, she is."

ooOoo

June wolfed down a sandwich standing near the Anderson's hotel. She'd been keeping watch constantly, but although the NSA teams had switched out, June had not seen anyone else. The sandwich tasted like lettuce on cardboard, but it hardly mattered. She needed energy. Enjoyment was not on the menu. Not for her. Not anymore.

June's mind was aflame and increasingly unresponsive to her control. She was flashing like a strobe light, faces, places, files, memories. As the forced automatism of the Intersect increased, June's feelings of regret and remorse, her hurt and her pain, also became deeper and rawer. _I hurt the world back. I hurt it back so bad._ File photos, hers. Corpses. Unnecessary corpses. Unnecessary pain. Hurting the world back. Blood.

Bleeding out. _Can a machine bleed out?_

She finished the sandwich and swallowed more aspirin powder. They weren't helping, but she could not stop the gesture. It would be night soon. The NSA team had shown every sign of settling in for the night. June would go back to her awful room. She would not sleep, but she could at least stretch out on the bed, clean and check her weapons again.

She knew in her gut. _Tomorrow will be the day._

ooOoo

Joe picked at her dessert. Bourbon pecan pie. It had been served with bourbon and coffee. It was normally Joe's favorite. But the meal had been strained and strange. Gretta kept giving her long looks when she thought Joe was not aware, and Gretta's posture and motion all seemed tense, jerky, angry. Joe had her story straight in her head. She had gone over it a couple of times with Chuck and Sarah. Thinking of those two made her feel warm, and she sipped her bourbon in a private toast to the lovers. Their happiness was contagious.

Joe snuck a look at Gretta, who was pouring some bourbon into her coffee. Why wasn't she somewhere being diddled by Bryce? She looked the part but showed no signs of having after-dinner plans. _All whored up and nowhere to go._ Joe felt a sudden rush of intense anger. _Murdering bitch. We're going to get you._

Then Joe wondered about the bourbon. It did not taste like their usual brand, not quite. Her head felt heavy, too heavy to hold, and her vision blurred. As her head dropped and her sight dimmed, she hazily saw the gardener and vaguely heard Gretta give an order: "Take the old bag to the shed and keep her there. I will be back in a while and I will...deal with her. And, no, wipe that look off your face, none of this is for you. Not tonight, anyway."

ooOoo

Bryce had eventually emerged from the bathroom, all suited up. He explained to Sarah in a quick, clipped voice that Garland had called shortly after he went into the bathroom. She'd invited him or drinks at the Davenport Lounge in the Ritz-Carlton. He gave Sarah a bland look.

"Don't expect me back until morning."

"I take it that means I am off the Anderson clock, so I am going to go Chuck's." As she finished, Bryce's bland look grew annoyed.

"You know, Sarah, maybe he seems like a good idea now, you know, like taking in a stray puppy. Eventually, you'll be sorry. He'll cramp your style." Bryce pulled on the sleeves of his shirt, moving his shoulders and adjusting it beneath his jacket as he spoke. "You're Ritz-Carlton. He's Motel 6."

Sarah just looked at Bryce, feeling incredibly tired of him, of all he and his suit and his watch and his evening plans represented. She sighed as she responded. "You know, Bryce, I suppose it's really not surprising, given our jobs and what we were doing, but we managed to spend a lot of time together and to know almost nothing about each other. And, no, Bryce, _you're_ Ritz-Carlton; I'm pizza-and-a movie-and-a-make-out session-on-the-couch. With lots of sweet nothings." She smiled; she could not help herself. "And just so you understand, _fully understand_...Chuck asked me to marry him and I said yes."

Bryce just stood there, staring. Sarah grabbed her purse and opened the door. "Call Casey and have him tell the NSA team you're leaving." Then she was gone.

ooOoo

Chuck looked up as Sarah came in. He had gotten her a key to the room. He smiled with delight. "Didn't think I'd get to see you until the morning."

"Gretta booty-hill-called Bryce. They're meeting at the Ritz. Mrs. Anderson is off-duty."

Chuck smiled but his eyes clouded a little. Sarah reached out for his hand. "Chuck, I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "No, I get it, Sarah. It's just that Bryce has been throwing that in my face all day. And I know it means nothing now, but it did once, and that's what he keeps telling me by mentioning it."

"Well, two things, Chuck. One: that is the past," _It is so past!_ "and as an articulate nerd I love urged me recently, let's not let the past dictate our future. And two: I told Bryce we were engaged."

Chuck's eyes got big and uncloudy all at once. "Really? You told him?"

"If he can blather on about ancient history, the Andersons, I can surely celebrate my future, the Bartowskis."

Chuck gasped. He had not thought that far ahead in that way, had never imagined Sarah imagining herself as _Sarah Bartowski._ Celebrating.

She laughed at his expression. "What, did you think you were going to become Chuck Walker?"

He reached out and took her gently by the wrist, tugging her to him. "As long as it's _Chuck and Sarah_ , the surnames can sort themselves…"

Sarah lifted herself to him for a soft kiss. He was sweet, so sweet, and her life had been so often bitter. "Chuck," she whispered, "I _want_ to be Sarah Bartowski. I want to be in _our_ bed. Right now."

"What about dinner? I haven't eaten, you haven't eaten."

Smile. "How about you order us a pizza?"

He nodded. "Sure, but that'll take a while. Can you wait?"

She captured his brown eyes with her blue ones. Holding them, she made sure he watched as she ever-so-slowly licked her lips. "Why wait? I have a tasty suggestion about appetizers."

ooOoo

In a luxurious suite of the Ritz, Bryce rolled off Gretta and she sighed in deep displeasure.

This had never happened to him before. No matter how dangerous the situation, _that_ had always worked. _Guns jam. Not me._ But he could not get the look on Sarah's face as she gazed at Chuck out of his head, or her news to him about the proposal. Part of him wanted to be happy for them but was not. The rest of him was all roiling envy.

Everything was upside-down. His safety was on; he couldn't seem to switch it off.

* * *

 **A/N2** All's ready for the stretch run. Two more (big) chapters and a Postlude. That's the plan, anyway. Tune in next time for Chapter 21, "San Soleil." It's the day of the Fulcrum Executive Meeting. Um...stuff happens. Believe me.


	22. Chapter 21: San Soleil

**A/N1** Saturday. Running a little slow. But better late than never, I guess.

Thanks to those of you who've commented. We fanfic writers do this for you for free; it's nice to get something back for the time and effort. As I sometimes say, the reading is free but the suggested donation is a review.

Don't own _Chuck_.

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

 _San Soleil_

* * *

Without sun we pull what feeds us  
From the heat that's in between us  
How can we expect to build a boat  
Seagulls running everything  
Hard, you make it hard, hard  
-Miike Snow, _San Soleil_

* * *

Joe woke. It happened quickly...and slowly. She could see before it registered on her that she could, that her eyes were open. She could hear before it registered on her that she could...that the gardener was talking.

No, not talking. Lecturing. No, not lecturing. Hectoring. Yes, hectoring. But not her. She was the audience, but he was hectoring someone absent. Gretta.

The gardener had a bottle of vodka in his hand, swinging it as he spoke, punctuating his comments with splashes of clear alcohol. An empty bottle of the same sort was on the ground behind him.

"Screeeeewwww you, Gretta Garland. And I do. Plenty. I work hard at it. I do it more than I garden, more than I handy... I mean, more than I handyman. I mean...hell….I can build things.. I'm not just here to hump her. Like the fountain. I drained it, opened it, put him in and re-bricked it all in one night. She should be paying me for that shit, not just screwing me. She ain't some _world-historical_ lay, let me tell you." He took a massive swig from the bottle. "That's right," Splash!, "I said 'world-historical'. I spent a term at Tulane. I ain't just pretty." He hit himself in the head with the bottle. Hard. His eyes crossed. Swig.

Joe finally understood what he had said. _Him_. _Put him in._ _That's what he said_. _Oh, Jesus._ The gardener was now pulling on the bottle, sucking on it like a baby.

And then there was a strange sound, like a baseball bat striking a melon. The gardener crumpled to the ground at her feet.

Robert was standing there, silent. The empty vodka bottle clutched in his hand. Blood dripped from it slowly. "He's loud. I heard him. I was worried about you so I came back. Has he hurt you?"

"No, Robert. My head feels like it's been stuffed with goose down. Gretta drugged me. Untie me, please." She held up her tied hands. Then she kicked the gardener with her tied feet. "No fair tying up the old crippled lady." She kicked him again.

"Miss Josephine, shouldn't you say ' _differently abled_ '." He took a penknife from his pocket and cut her bonds as he waited for the answer. She kicked the gardener again. Robert watched her, then looked at her in puzzlement, but he asked nothing. "No, Robert, maybe _you_ should, but I can say whatever I damn well please about myself. Especially when I've been drugged and tied up by Gretta's _hoe-ho_ boy." She kicked him again. "I think the bastard had something to do with my son's death."

Robert gave her another hard look. "Shall we go to the police?"

Joe stopped unwinding the rope on her hands. "Huh. No. There's bigger fish to fry than my bitch of a daughter-in-law, although I look forward to watching her fry; there are others, people _she_ works for..."

Joe looked around the shed, considering what to do, talking aloud to herself. "She didn't kill me. She must not be sure….She suspects, but probably only that it's just me spying on her, out of spite, not that I am part of...anything more, a team. If I don't talk, she won't leave me here...And I don't think she'll kill me until she gets out of me what's going on...She said on the phone 'spouses, children'...family...Someone on the inside..."

Joe fixed her gaze on Robert. "Tie me up again, Robert." He jerked at that, puzzled again. "I need you to do what I say, please. Tie me up. Tie him up and gag him. Then take him, and his bottles. Put him in the trunk of his car and drive it somewhere and leave it. He'll live. His head will hurt, but he will live. Not that he deserves to."

Robert stood silent, listening. "But, Miss Josephine, I don't understand."

"It's ok, Robert. I'm going to roll the dice. What do they say? _Go big or go home_. Maybe I can do more than ruin Gretta. Maybe I can help my friends. Now, come over here and tie me up. And she will expect me still to be drugged." Josephine noticed a small prescription bottle on a shelf near where the gardener had been sitting. She pointed to it. "Bring that to me."

ooOoo

 _A little earlier_

Garland was pissed. Frustrated. _Oh, so damn horny. I could light a city block._ Bryce had not risen to the occasion. And after that failure, he had bolted from the room like it was on fire. _Men._ She had gotten dressed after he left. She went downstairs to the Lounge. But, although there were some attractive young men there, it was like being forced to order after being told that the dish you'd been looking forward to all day was no longer being served.

She'd gone back to her room and tried to do for herself what Bryce did not do for her, and she had, sort of, but it was more like scratching a case of poison ivy than curing it. The itch would be back ( _Hell, it was already back…_ ) and worse than before. It was very late, almost 3 pm. Josephine had to be dealt with, and Garland knew she was derelict on that score. But Gretta's needs came first. She hoped her gardener had followed instructions and dosed Josephine again. She had left pills. All he had to do was watch the old bag snore.

What was Josephine up to? Probably just the old vendetta about her son taking a new form. Maybe she'd seen a spy movie and gotten inspired... _Josephine Smart. Ha! What an old fool!_ Who knew? Garland slipped her gold sandals on and adjusted her skirt, twisting a little to help it fall correctly. The twist reminded her of what had _not_ happened in that room. For a moment, a thought she had kept submerged all night buoyed up to full consciousness: _What if it was really me, not him? What if I am getting...old? Maybe I can no longer...command...a man's full attention?_

She shoved the thought back down. She had other worries.

ooOoo

 _Even a little earlier_

Bryce had gotten out of the taxi a few blocks from the hotel. He could not go in. _I need to clear my head._ He laughed ruefully at his phrasing. He was an ass. At some level, he knew it about himself, sometimes he embraced it. He was handsome, glamorous. His life was all intrigue and danger and beautiful women. Or at least, that is what the trailers for his life all said, the ones he watched in his head constantly. _Watch Bryce Larkin, super spy, save the day, and bed the beauty! A bevy of beauties!_ Since high school, he had always been his own Number One Fan. _Bryce Larkin, president of the Bryce Larkin Fan Club_. It was a big part of why he was an ass. And he knew, although he devoted a lot of energy to keeping himself from knowing it most of the time, he knew that he would never have any good thing in his life for long, because he would always sacrifice it for the lure of something better. Because he deserved the best. He was, after all, _Bryce Larkin._

And for the first time in his life: _I can't get it up._

"Hello, Bryce."

Bryce stopped. _Oh, shit,_ He felt a gun barrel against his spine. He caught a scent of cloves. June Thorne. "All dressed up and nowhere to go?" He felt a bug bite the back of his neck. As he started to slump into June's arm, he had one thought. _Shit, limp twice in one night._

ooOoo

 _Even a little earlier_

Sleep was impossible. Her head was a gonzo movie theater running simultaneous slasher films and war films. Blood. Explosions. More files. Her own. More corpses. Hers, her responsibility. She was finding it impossible to direct her conscious thoughts in any off-mission way.

 _Walker. Walker. Walker..._

She shook the last of her powder into her mouth and simply let saliva moisten it before she choked it down. She was in torment. Hell. This must be what it is like. To live again all that you have done wrong with no chance of redress and with no future for change. _Hell_. _The Inferno._ Alone with your own misdeeds for eternity, pressed up against your own scaly flesh forever.

She escaped into the street. In her go-bag from LA she had a few syringes and a couple of vials of tranquilizer. She had been thinking about using one on herself and she had the syringe ready. But her hands shook so badly when she explicitly contemplated doing it that she had put the syringe in her pocket. Maybe later. But probably not. The Intersect was not going to allow her any peace, any oblivion. _Stay awake for the horror show._

Fresh air. Fresh air was good. She walked a bit and then noticed a handsome man emerge from a taxi. _Bryce? Bryce Larkin?_ She laughed to herself. The Intersect hummed. This was within mission parameters. _Divide and conquer._ Larkin was strangely situationally unaware. Not acting the spy. His shoulders were hunched; he was walking without much purpose. June pulled her pistol. She thought of the syringe. _All things work together for good..._ She had heard that somewhere, as a kid. _False._ But she'd take advantage of her chance.

" _Hello, Bryce!"_

ooOoo

 _Later_

Casey was pulled from a dream. A dream he had many times, always the same. He had never told anyone, not even the spook shrinks he was forced to visit periodically, like all agents. It was a dream of a proposal. It was not in any glamorous setting. There was no swell of romantic music, although Casey thought the scene deserved some, maybe _Laura's Theme_ from _Dr. Zhivago_. No, it was a pedestrian location and the diamond on the ring he offered was so small it was like a diamond-chip chip. But none of that had mattered. Because the woman, Kathleen, had been so heart-stoppingly lovely. And because she had said yes. To him. "Yes, Alex, a thousand times yes." It had just been the once, though, and Casey had screwed it all to hell for...duty. _Screw me._ But she had said it. _Yes._ It was Casey's most treasured, most secret memory, his Holy of Holies, that part of him that was human when it sometimes seemed no other part still was.

Kathleen had just been about to say yes when a phone rang. The ringing was in the dream but not of the dream. It was his damn phone on the hotel room nightstand.

"Sorry to bother you, Major," said one of the men from the team downstairs, "but it is getting close to morning and Agent Larkin has not returned. Is that a problem?" The guy was young, unsure of himself. As annoyed as Casey was, he gave the guy a pass.

"No, no expected return time on Agent Larkin. He'll be in when he gets in." _Larkin's no spy, really; he's a gigolo with a gun. Double-0 Gamma Delta Phi. Beer Pong Bond. I still wished I killed him when I killed him._

Casey went back to sleep but his dream eluded him.

ooOoo

Chuck slipped out of bed. Sarah was asleep. She had been wrapped around him, but he had needed to get to the bathroom and so he had patiently extracted himself from her embrace. He was already missing it. He finished in the bathroom and was washing his hands. He looked at himself in the mirror. He was happy, deliriously, even in the midst of all the crazy.

He hated the Intersect, although he never really said that to anyone. He hated it passionately. But it had brought Sarah in its wake. And so he hated it but, strangely, did not regret it having come into his life. The Intersect was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Sarah was the best. Chuck's life did not start anew when he downloaded the Intersect; it started anew when Sarah walked to the Nerd Herd desk.

Chuck tried to look into the future. What was ahead for them, as long as the Intersect was in his head? He was not sure, but, at that moment he did not care. He heard Sarah call his name, her voice all at once warm and full of sleep and...needy. He clicked off the light, got in bed, and rolled back against her very warm naked body. He was where he was supposed to be. The future would have to take care of itself. He felt Sarah's hand slip inside his boxers. Yes, the future would have to take care of itself…

ooOoo

June was able to wrangle Bryce back to her room. The desk clerk was missing and no one else was around. Bryce was out now of the equation. That left Casey and Chuck. June was not much worried about the NSA team. She had flashed on their files. Not exactly the A-Team. June knew what she was capable of. She had not been exaggerating when she told Casey that she was a dangerous woman. The Intersect flashed again. More of her files. More blood. More pain. Much of it needless. Yes, she was a dangerous woman. She just needed Walker to get outside the hotel.

June looked at the cracks on the wall. _Almost morning._

ooOoo

Sarah was standing near one of the windows in Chuck's room. She knew she shouldn't be, but she had only barely cracked the blinds and she wanted to look out, to see the day approach. Chuck was sleeping peacefully. Sarah smirked to herself. She had worn them both out. She simply could not get enough. She wanted more now. But she would let him sleep. Later. Definitely later. Several times.

She looked out at the sky through the cracked blinds. The morning sky was inky dark and full of grey clouds, already spitting rain. The weather app on her phone had told her that thunderstorms were expected all day. She sighed. It was probably time to get showered and get dressed. The Fulcrum meeting was scheduled to start at midday, but that meant that arrivals would begin midmorning. That was when Gretta had scheduled her arrival. 10 am. Sarah's phone buzzed in her hand. Casey.

"Morning, Casey."

"Morning Walker. Look, Larkin's still not back from his...mission. Should we be worried about that?"

"Why ask me?"

Casey's voice was cautious. "Well, you know his...habits...best. Or did. Thought you might have some...insight. Not pulling your chain. ...Although, now that I think of it, Walker, what the hell? _Bryce Larkin? Really?_ " Casey shut up for a moment, then he went on: "Sorry, it's early. That just sorta slipped out."

"That's ok, Casey. Maybe we should be worried if he isn't back soon. He's not one to linger at the…"

Casey offered, "...scene of the crime?"

"Uh, yes, if he isn't back in soon, we should begin to worry, alert someone. We can't wait for him to start the mission today...And on the other thing, your _what-the-hell question_ : I treated something that was only part of the mission as something real."

"Huh," Casey reacted, thinking about it. "The reverse of the mistake you made with the kid…"

"I...I guess so."

"This business we're in screws with your head and your heart, you know it, Walker?

"Yes, Casey, I do."

ooOoo

 _Later_

Gretta's night had turned into a cluster-no-fuck. Josephine was still unconscious in the shed. But the damn gardener was gone, his car too. _Well, he was so fired_. But that left her with a drugged old woman on her hands. She needed to get to the Executive Meeting. She could not leave her in the shed or house. She could call someone to take over for the gardener, but she had used him because she knew she had something on him, not just fear, but his participation in the death and burial of her husband. Of course, he had something on her too. She did not want to get in dutch in that way with anyone else, give someone else a handhold. She would do this herself.

She could dose her again if she woke, and at this point, given her age and weight and the number of pills the gardener had used, it was unlikely she would wake up soon. She should be out for hours.

Fulcrum would not let her bring Bryce to the estate. _Maybe a good thing. It would be like taking a licorice whip to a pencil fight._ Gretta laughed frustratedly. _But family is allowed. I can stow her in my room, drug her again if need be. Maybe I can find out what she is up to. No more depending on underlings. If a woman wants it done right, she should do it herself. Although that didn't work out quite earlier…_

Gretta checked Josephine's ropes, then she went inside to change. She'd bring the car around once she had, and she and Josephine would head to the Meeting. A family outing. "Let's take a little trip out of town, you old bag."

ooOoo

As Gretta left the shed, Josephine opened one eye and let out a long sigh of relief. So far, so good.

ooOoo

Casey had talked to Beckman. Things were set. She had a satellite trained on the estate. The plan was simple. Three person team, _the team,_ small and light and mobile. Get Chuck close enough to flash. No engagement. Beckman's analysts should be able to use the satellite to tell them the position of guards. Casey heard a rumble of thunder. Should be able...if the weather did not muck up the works somehow.

Chuck had agreed to the plan immediately, of course. But Casey was worried about it in a particular way. He had seen what Thorne's enforced, repeated flashing had done to Chuck in Burbank. This would be similar, except perhaps worse, happening in real time, with no way for Chuck to pause or clear his head. Casey had not said anything about his worry to Walker. He was not sure what to do about that. Fulcrum was the clear and present danger to the Intersect, the one group with real knowledge and suspicions about it. If they could do it serious damage today, it would be very good for Chuck. But it wouldn't matter if the flashing broke him. He had held up in Burbank. Casey was hoping he would hold up again.

Larkin was still missing. They would have to go without him. Was it possible that Thorne had him? _Yes, possible_ , Casey thought. _But why would she want him? Walker's the target. This is probably just Larkin insisting on breakfast in bed with Garland._ Still…

Casey called Beckman and asked her to tell the NSA folks in New Orleans on the hunt for June to be on the hunt for Larkin too. They waited as long as they could.

Larkin never showed. The could not contact him. Maybe Thorne had him. Maybe he was AWOL. He had been pissy enough to bail. It had killed him, seeing Chuck and Sarah together.

Or maybe he...overslept, or was...playing extra innings. They would go without him. No choice. This was a one-time thing. Frankly, Casey was happy not to have him along.

ooOoo

June had everything stowed in a rental car. All her weapons and ammunition and equipment. She dosed Larkin again. He would sleep the day away. She drove to a spot near the hotel and parked. She could see the parking deck entrance.

She was rocking in the driver's seat, trying to cope with the pain. Someone had opened the lid on her brain and dumped in a box of lye. She was prepared to wait in agony. She had no choice but to wait in agony. And then she saw it: a gray SUV. Casey at the wheel. Walker in the passenger seat. A third, Chuck, in the rear seat.

 _Walker_.

 _Target acquired._

June felt the Intersect lock into place, tick over. It was done. No reversals now. This would only end when Walker was dead. Or June was.

ooOoo

The rain was pouring. Not metaphorically. Literally. Casey could barely see to drive. The SUV kept trying to hydroplane.

"Shit. Why can't the weather cooperate? I like spying in LA. It never rains there."

Casey glanced over and noticed that Sarah had twisted in her seat so that she could see Chuck. Her arm was extended behind her seat so that Chuck could hold her hand. Chuck was holding it and gazing, rapt, at Sarah. She was gazing back at him.

Casey blew out a breath instead of laughing. He recognized the look on the kid's face. The kid had asked and Sarah had said yes. Casey was sure of it. He knew that look. He had worn it once himself. _Good for them._

ooOoo

The rain had slacked off by the time they reached the point where they were going to have to hide the SUV. They turned off onto a side road and then drove off the side road and into the swampy, dense growth of green. Casey eased the SUV in until the heavy vegetation closed behind it. They had put on body armor before leaving the hotel.

Now they gathered guns and binoculars. They put in comms and tested the link to the NSA analysts operating the satellite. Contact was established. Everything was a _go_. They got out of the SUV and began trudging in the misting rain. They had a long walk ahead of them. Mud.

ooOoo

June had her rifle out and she almost took the shot. Sarah's head had been for a split second in the crosshairs. But then the vegetation had obscured her from view. June did not want to take a chance. The Intersect did not want to take a chance. The kill had to be certain. She would wait for a better moment. She slung the rifle over her shoulder and walked away from the car. She tied her purple ribbon in her hair. She and the Intersect said the words together: _One last mission._

ooOoo

Joe was still playing possum. Gretta had put her in the back seat of the car. They were driving to the estate. The rain was falling. Joe heard a clap of thunder. Gretta had been grousing the entire drive, but under her breath, so Joe was unsure what she was complaining about.

Joe realized that she really had no plan. She just wanted to get inside the meeting, to see if maybe she could find something out, help Chuck and Sarah. At least Gretta had removed the ropes. Even at a Fulcrum Meeting, it was probably a bit out of bounds to show up with an old woman tied up in a wheelchair.

They arrived. Gretta had a valet help her move Joe into a chair, then she wheeled her in, explaining that Joe had not been feeling well. Gretta rolled her through various hallways until they reached their room.

Inside, Gretta pushed Joe's chair up to a wall and left her there, out of the way, like a suitcase. _Bitch._ Gretta went into the bathroom and came out, freshened up. She left the room. It was nearly time for the meeting.

Joe stood up and got out of the chair. Robert had suspected when he realized she was kicking the gardener. She hated that pool therapy class, but it was working. She'd regained some strength in her legs in the past months. But she had kept the change hidden, at first because she thought it might be a temporary thing, then later because it felt like a joke on Gretta. But now it felt like she had a secret weapon. She was a secret agent with a secret weapon. She crept from the room and went in search of the Meeting.

ooOoo

 _A little earlier_

Casey, Sarah, and Chuck had gotten into position. the could do surveillance from here, away from the guards the satellite identified. It was time for folks to arrive. In fact, the first arrival was familiar, Gretta Garland. Casey heard Chuck and Sarah gasp in unison as they looked through their binoculars. Casey raised his and looked. Gretta and a valet were getting an old woman out of the car and putting her in a wheelchair.

"What on earth is Joe doing here?" Sarah. "Is she unconscious?"

"It looks like it." Chuck. "Damn, this isn't good."

"No."

A line of cars was forming behind Gretta's. Another man, another valet, evidently, got hers and drove it away. A few more cars were starting to arrive, coming down the lane, headlights shining in the rain. Time for the Intersect to go to work.

ooOoo

In the distance, behind a bush, June had stretched out on the wet ground. She took her time. Trained the rifle. Zeroed in. She had a clear headshot on Walker. The Intersect was ready. It spoke in June's head, in June's voice.

 _Oh, yes, yes._

 _Greenlight!_

 _Take the shot!_

* * *

 **A/N2** One final cliffhanger. Tune in next time for Chapter 22, "Purple Rain". Guns will be fired. The lame will walk (oh, wait, that already happened).

I may take today off. If so, no update until Monday. I have the Postlude written, so there is only Chapter 22 to finish. The story is on course to be entirely posted by Tuesday, Wednesday at the latest.


	23. Chapter 22: Purple Rain

**A/N1** So, I didn't take Saturday off. Big surprise.

A long chapter for me, more like a chapter and a half. But there was no good way to dice up the final sections, especially given the formal 'place' I wanted the Postlude to occupy (it will show up soon). So here we go. Thanks for sticking with me. It's been a crazy three weeks. Time to put my pencil down and shut my notebook.

I'd love it if you shared some final thoughts with me, either here or after the Postlude.

Don't own _Chuck._

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

 _Purple Rain_

* * *

Morning bled at the water's edge  
The city was bringing me down  
And my mind was on a ledge  
Saying who's gonna help you now

Watching shadows within the shadows  
They hide their dark selves from the sun  
And her voice is just a memory  
You're not fooling anyone  
-Miike Snow, _San Soleil_

* * *

June's fingers started to squeeze the trigger. Chuck stepped into her sights.

The Intersect kept squeezing. _Divide and conquer. Within mission parameters._

June resisted. Her head fired in pain worse than any agony she had so far endured. The rifle fell from her hands, landing with a dull splash in the mud. In her agony, she went face-down in the mud too. She screamed, but with her mouth against the muddy grass, not much sound escaped. Gritty water rushed past her lips and filled her mouth. Her eyes still squeezed shut against the pain, she started spitting it out.

When the pain retreated a few steps, she found that her hands had re-secured the rifle.

Mission. Mission. Waker. _Walker_.

She wiped her face, smearing dirt and water. She looked through the scope. Walker, Chuck, and Casey were gone. Rain continued to fall. Fall.

She found them again, on the far side of a heavy growth of trees. No clear shot. They were moving toward the large house. Cars were emptying in front of it. Some kind of party. What was happening? She turned the scope on the house. Long and flat. Formal. It was less a house, a home, more a rich-person conference center. The emptying cars typically held only one person. Only a couple had more than one person in them. Party?

June got up and put the rifle on her shoulder. Running in a crouch, she pulled out her silenced pistol. She was going to try to flank Walker, get ahead of her, and meet her as she arrived. June was not sure she could resist the Intersect again. She wanted to get a clear shot. She did not want to kill Chuck. Not even Casey. But there might be no way to stop it. She _had_ to kill Walker. Her programming was overriding everything, even the monster writhing inside her was yielding. And the Intersect was affecting her physically. Her senses were in overdrive. Her sense of her own power maximized. Her heart was pounding, but her consciousness was acute.

She ran down an embankment, sliding as her speed increased and she neared the bottom. As she slid to a stop, a man with a rifle stepped into view. He had on a camo rain poncho. June raised her pistol and shot him in the head.

He sank to his knees, then timbered onto his face in the mud. Dead before he splashed down. He made no move to cushion or re-direct his fall. She got to his body and ransacked it quickly. He had a combat knife in his belt, and she took it. He also had four small explosives. They were miniature fragmentation grenades. The Intersect flashed: The _grenades were deadly but soon to be phased out. Manufacturing problems and problems of unexpected detonation._ _Whatever._ She yanked his belt off and put it around herself, tightening it down. The grenades stayed in place on it. She pulled off his poncho and put it on, pulling the hood over her muddy hair and muddy purple ribbon.

The grenades made it clear that whoever was in the house was not having a party, not of any normal sort. Serious business. Walker might be dead by another hand before June could reach her. _No, it has to be me._ Her Intersect shot adrenaline into her system; she tore downhill toward the house, staying low and in the brush as much as possible.

ooOoo

Casey kept smacking himself in the ear. _Damn comms. Shaky in the rain._ They popped and cracked.

"...Another bogey has….your direction...Take down….Careful...Flanking…" _Shit._ He turned to the kid and Walker but they just gave him looks. Their comms were cutting in and out too. They did not have time to compare notes.

Casey gestured down the treeline toward the house. "If we're going in after the old lady, we need to get to the back."

The line of cars was now nearly gone, the cars parked, the passengers inside. Chuck had not gotten a chance to look at anyone. Their opportunity was slipping through their hands. They were really not prepared to assault the place. The analyst counted eight guards before the comms went wonky. If their prior run-ins with Fulcrum were a trustworthy gauge, the guards would be heavily armed, extravagantly armed. They had to get in and get out, with the old lady, without getting into a firefight. _Shit._

ooOoo

Beckman wanted to know what was going on. The satellite feed was now cutting in and out. The analysts were trying to figure it out. But the team's comms were malfunctioning in the weather. No doubt the government had paid untold millions for the tech and a Louisiana thunderstorm was turning it into cheap plastic junk. Just once, just once, she'd like things to work!

ooOoo

Joe found the doors to the Meeting room. Had to be. Grand and heavy and wooden. The hallways were empty. If anyone else had brought family, they must have stowed them in their rooms as Gretta had tried to stow Joe in hers. Joe sidled up to the doors. Putting her ear against them, she could make out words clearly.

"Welcome. Welcome. We will meet now and then, assuming the rain lets up, we will be able to spend the rest of the day enjoying the amenities here at the Estate. I trust you instructed any guests to stay in their rooms. They may move about after we have finished here.

"Please open your file folders. Remember that they must be left here when the Meeting ends. Anyone who forgets that will be summarily shot. Do not make that mistake.

"Page One. Very good news. We now have Fulcrum members in the upper ranks of the nation's intelligence and security agencies. No longer are we recruiting from the rank and file. We are making inroads with men and women with real power. We are gaining ground. Let me run through the list…"

Joe leaned in, repeating the names as they went by. She was old, but she was sharp. She would remember.

The Meeting continued.

ooOoo

Susie Lou was seated beside Ellie at the table in Casey's apartment. He had left them with the keys and codes. They were considering June Thorne and the Intersect.

"Do you think there is any way she could survive this? Come out intact, somehow." Ellie was asking while doodling in her notebook, an old nervous habit from med school.

Susie Lou shrugged. "I don't know. She was not intact from the beginning. Have you looked at her actual psych evals?" Ellie nodded and shuddered. She was so worried about Chuck. The mission was today.

Susie Lou looked at Ellie sympathetically. "She was in serious trouble already. But here's something interesting. Look at the reports she submitted while in Burbank, especially the last ones. They are smoother, more coherent. Her reports on Chuck are less clinical, more...I don't know...personal. I mean, it was just a change over a few days and it is hard to make much of it, but she seemed to be...settling...in Burbank. Somewhat."

"Casey thinks she was interested in Chuck, you know, _interested._ " Susie Lou blushed, thinking of Dan.

"I know. It could be. Although it is hard to tell. Not a woman who would be able to express interest in any normal way. Still, if she was, it might have given her something focal. A...quiet place in her mind. I suspect those were few and far between for her _before_ she got the Intersect."

"Do you think Chuck might be able to...talk to her? Help her?"

Susie Lou shrugged again but with a more obvious pessimism. "I fear the Intersect will have taken over by now. She's likely becoming more machine than woman."

Ellie got a funny look on her face. "Like a woman inside a machine, instead of a machine inside a woman?"

Susie Lou gave Ellie a puzzled glance. "Yes, exactly like that. Where…"

"Oh, God," Ellie said in a whisper, "She's Deathlok!"

"Huh? Wait? Are you talking about the comic book character?"

"Yes. Chuck always liked that character."

"Well, she's like that...and unlike that. But the idea that the woman is trapped in the machine: that's phenomenologically accurate, if metaphysically false."

Ellie shook her head, staring at Susie Lou. "You are a hoot, Susie Lou! I'm so glad you're here."

"Me, too, Ellie," the small woman commented quietly, giving Ellie's unoccupied hand a squeeze.

ooOoo

Sarah was frightened for Joe. She was frightened for Chuck. She was frightened for them all.

This mission had gone sour fast. It was supposed to have been _no engagement_. She knew what Casey was thinking. Getting in and getting out with Joe was unlikely, at least not without serious injuries or worse. The rain was making everything miserable, making it hard to see. But at least that made them hard to see. So far, they'd encountered no guards. Rain. Mud.

She spoke too soon. Two men in camo rain ponchos stepped out of the trees.

"Don't move!"

Sarah did. She sprang forward, knocking Chuck down on the wet grass. She followed him down and landed on him. She had her gun up before the muddy splash came down, and she fired her silenced pistol. It spit, and one man gasped, falling backward.

Casey had managed to shoot the other. Without a word, understanding each other, she leaped up and grabbed the man she had killed; Casey was dragging the other. They hid them in the higher grass.

Chuck was getting up, his front soaking in muddy water. He looked pale but that might have been the contrast with the mud. At least the mud made him still harder to see, Sarah thought, relief surging through her when she saw him whole. Casey had gotten the ponchos off both men and he put one on, squeezing into it, and handed her the other. He nodded, and they began again toward the end of the house, hoping to get around it and through a rear entrance.

ooOoo

June was near one end of the massive long structure. Two more figures in ponchos were standing near the end, talking and gesturing. One held out a radio and the other shook his head. The one who held out the radio went around the end of the house, shaking the radio as he went. The other man stood, staring after him. June rushed out of the trees. She plunged the knife into the back of the man's neck. He jerked as she pulled the knife free, then stabbed him in the back. He fell. She pulled his poncho over him, and she went on around the end of the house.

The man with the radio was standing in front of a large plastic box. He was holding the lid open, but only a crack, trying to reach inside to get something without allowing too much rain in. June slowed, put her pistol up, shot him. He jerked hard, like lightning had struck him, and the jerk threw the lid back, opening the box. June pushed him in on top of radios and other equipment as she reached him. She pulled the box lid closed over him. She had a clear path to an exit door on the back of the house.

Her heart was pounding like a jackhammer. Her vision seemed preternaturally clear, her hearing acute. Nothing she had done seemed to have taxed her. Each shot had been easy, like a standing shot at a large target on a good day at the range, not a running shot through the mud and downpour. Her breathing was not even labored. The Intersect was more firmly in control each moment. She was losing all sense of herself. There was only Walker. Only the mission. The Intersect did not care about the origin of the mission. The Intersect did not care if it made sense. It cared only about the mission.

Mission. Mission. Mission. June opened the door and walked inside, her shoes squeaking as water oozed from them with each step. She was leaking mud and dirty water.

ooOoo

Sarah grabbed Chuck's hand. His fingers were wrinkled from the rain and water. Hers too. He looked at her and gulped. "I know, Chuck, but we have to save her if we can, and I will always protect you," Sarah whispered, just audible over the rainfall.

"I get it, I do. Just can't ever quite get used to it. Let's save Joe."

They were near one end of the building. No guards were visible. They had a short space to cross to get to the nearest rear exit door. At the far end of the building was a large plastic box, shut. Other than that, nothing was visible. Off in the distance was a pavilion with picnic tables, empty.

Finally, Sarah's comm worked suddenly. She jumped at the voice in her ear. "Repeat. New bogey. In the building. In the building. Three Fulcrum guards down, victims of the bogey. Three more in the treeline behind you…" _Crackle. Nothing._ Sarah motioned at Chuck and Casey, gesturing to her ear. They shook their heads. They weren't hearing. She held up three fingers. "Three Fulcrum guards left, behind us, in the trees. New player here. Already inside. Taken out three guards."

Chuck paled. "Thorne?" Sarah nodded. "Probably."

In unison, Chuck and Casey: "Shit."

"What do we do?" Chuck's whisper was urgent, hoarse. "Men behind us, Thorne in front of us? We don't have time for tactics, kid. C'mon. We ain't splitting up. We're in this together,"

Casey motioned to the door. Sarah nodded and squeezed Chuck's hand. They went through the door, all three, Casey followed by Sarah and Chuck.

They stepped into a small room. There was a pile of folding chairs in the room in the midst of the nice but bland furnishings. Casey grabbed one and jammed it into the handle of the door, Sarah put her back against the other door, the one leading out of the room, and had her pistol ready. She pushed it open with her back, lowering her gun as she did. The hallway was empty. She spun around and checked behind the door. Empty. She waved for Chuck and Casey to join her and the started down the hallway quickly.

At about the midpoint of the hall's length, there was an opening on the left side. As Sarah got closer, she could see two large, heavy wooden doors. But then she saw Joe, pressed against the wall, looking a little afraid.

"Joe!" Sarah called in a whisper.

Joe, softly: "Sarah? I didn't recognize you in that poncho, with the mud..."

"What are you doing?"

"Listening to the Meeting. They are finishing up. They're watching a film. A recruiting film, I think." Loud, tinny music was blaring, blaring inside the room, upbeat, martial music.

"You heard them?"

Joe smiled and nodded. "And you can walk?"

Joe's smile grew, dancing a step. "It's a miracle!"

Sarah smiled through the grime on her face, but then put her finger to her lips.

"WALKER!"

A howl from the other end of the hallway. Sarah whirled her head. In the distance stood June. She was in a poncho too, dripping mud and water on the floor. She lifted her pistol.

A weight hit Sarah in the back. Chuck. He tackled her to the ground as June's gun fired repeatedly. The shots missed. Sarah heard them hit the wall, just missing Joe. Chuck reached out with his long arm and pulled Joe down too. Casey fired several times, driving June away down the hall. She disappeared through the door on the other end.

Sarah twisted out from under Chuck. Kneeling beside him, she looked at him. "Take June and run. Go! June will chase me! Go!"

"Sarah…" Chuck's voice broke.

"Go! I'll come back to you, Chuck. Go!" Chuck took Joe's hand. Sarah looked at Casey and he nodded to her. Then the three of them ran back down the hallway. Sarah saw them go through the door to the room with the chairs. "I love you, Chuck."

She turned and looked down the hall to where June had last been. The door she had used burst open and June came sprinting down the hall toward Sarah, a knife between her teeth and her pistol up. _She reloaded._

Sarah fired. She hit June in the shoulder. June spun around but then was facing Sarah again, still coming, the knife clattering on the floor. Sarah fired again but missed. Jue was close. Sarah stepped to the heavy wooden doors and opened them, running inside.

Inside was Fulcrum's Executive Committee. They were all looking at a movie screen in the room, with pictures of lockstepping men and women all smiling beneath a smiley face Fulcrum logo. _Even the bad guys have gone corporate._ The music was deafening. As the doors slammed open, the Committee members turned as one to stare at her. Sarah stood there for a split second, water still running off her poncho but her hood down from when Chuck tackled her.

"Sarah...Anderson?"

It was Gretta Garland. Sarah heard June yell her name and she saw a door on the opposite side of the room. She ran toward it. As she did, she heard something strike the wooden floor of the conference room and bounce. Sarah leaped over one of the desks, turning it as she did. There was an explosion. She heard fragments embed themselves in the desk. Then she heard another strike on the floor, and another. Two more explosions. More fragments. Sarah curled into a ball behind the shield.

"Walker!"

Around her, Sarah heard screams and moans. She jumped up and ran toward the door. She heard June yell her name yet again. Then there was another explosion. But Sarah was through the door as it happened.

ooOoo

Chuck had Joe's hand. She was clearly tiring. Without asking, he bent over and put her over his shoulder. He heard her grunt. "Well, and I thought you were spoken for!"

Casey unwedged the metal chair from the door and got his pistol ready. He shoved the door open. There was no one in sight. Chuck smacked his ear, his comm crackled, but he could make nothing out. Casey was motioning for Chuck to follow him. Rain was still falling. More mud.

Chuck wanted to turn around. To help Sarah. But she had sent him away, trusted him to save Joe. He stepped out into the rain. Gunfire erupted and Chuck crouched down, managing to keep Joe on his shoulder. Casey fired twice.

"Hot damn, got two. One down, one winged and on the run. But there's another. C'mon kid, bring granny."

"Hey!" Joe muttered, hanging upside down.

Chuck heard muffled explosions.

They ran toward the front of the house, the lines of cars. Just as they got there, the front doors burst open, slamming back, and Sarah sprinted into view The hood of her poncho was down and she was muddy. Her blonde hair was wet. She went airborne and jumped over the front steps, splash-crunching to a landing in the loose gravel at the edge of the driveway. Her ankle twisted under her, and she fell forward with a loud gasp, her pistol flying from her hand.

The third guard stood up. He had been crouched behind a car.

He fired at Sarah. He missed.

Casey fired at him. He missed.

Another shot. June came through the doors after Sarah. Her gun extended. She had not missed. She had killed the guard.

June fired again and Casey went down before he could take cover.

"Walker," June said Sarah's name as she came down the steps. Sarah tried to scramble for her gun, but June fired again, barely missing. Sarah held still after turning her face toward June. In his panic, Chuck had not looked clearly at June. Following Sarah's gaze, he did. Her poncho was not just wet and dirty as she stood there in the rain, it was ragged, torn and bloody. She was badly injured. Mangled. She was covered in wounds, bleeding all over. It was unclear how she was standing, much less holding her pistol leveled at Sarah's head. Chuck put Joe down on the ground carefully, and June spoke, noticing his movement. She still had on her purple ribbon, now muddy, drenched and crooked on her head.

"Don't do anything stupid, Chuck, or I will kill the old woman and kill you too. Stay where you are." Her gun and her eyes remained trained on Sarah.

June's voice sounded flat, almost metallic. But there was still a hint of her in it.

"Don't do this, June. I know you must be in terrible pain. I know your head must hurt: and I know something about that pain...You know I do. Please don't do this."

ooOoo

The final fragmentation grenade misfired. June had it in her hand and then realized it had armed. She tossed it and dove aside, rolling toward the podium at the front of the room. But when it exploded she was exposed. She had been riddled with fragments.

The Intersect squeezed her adrenaline gland again and she got up and went after Sarah. She vaguely noticed the room. Bodies were everywhere, most mangled beyond immediate recognition. There were a few isolated moans and whimpers. It was a room of death and misery. It was June's life. A movie screen, torn and perforated, showed moving images of people living happy, smiling lives. She was not in the pictures.

Her head was painful beyond description. Now her body screamed from dozens of wounds at once.

Walker. She moved forward. Walker was through the main doors, leading outside. June picked up her pace despite her agony, and followed. As she came through the doors she shot a guard who was going to shoot Walker. _No, my mission. Not yours._ She shot Casey when she saw him. _Can't stop now._

And then she heard Chuck's voice. He was talking to her. Kindly. Talking about pain. Trying to stop her. Trying to save Walker. She liked Chuck. She wished she were the kind of woman who could say things like that: "I like you, Chuck." But she was the kind who would proposition him and never be able to say anything about the feelings that might have prompted it. 'Like', 'love'...words for other people, other women.

The pain of the fragments was so bad that it, along with the sound of Chuck's voice, had given June back herself-the Intersect was there, doing its thing, but she had a moment of time, a few inches of space. She glanced quickly at Chuck's face, wet, muddy and terrified. An old woman was on her knees beside him. She looked back at Walker, facing her, seated awkwardly on the ground, fear in her face. It struck June: she looks like my mother. A softer version, younger than June's mother was the one time June saw her. _She played with me and hugged me. Her voice was so full of pain._

June's gun hand began to tremble. _How many people did I kill today, Momma?_ _I know what they call me: Calamity June. I know what they say: Psycho bitch. Scorched earth. I inspire only fear. But you weren't afraid of me, Momma. You were so afraid, but not of me._

The moment ended, the space closed, the Intersect demanded. _Eliminate the target. Kill Walker._ June tried to resist. The rain was still falling. Thunder clapped, lightning flashed.

 _Eliminate the target._ June fought the Intersect. Her mind went into full meltdown, radioactive slag. _You must succeed in the mission._ Success. Failure. _Momma, succeeding at failing. Bleeding out._ With a final desperate act of will, June turned her silenced pistol around, touching its end to own her forehead. _Success. Failure. Succeed at failing. I inspire only fear. I fear myself. I have spent my life bleeding out. Momma!_

 _New target acquired. Eliminate._ She pulled the trigger.

ooOoo

Cleaners, teams, ambulances. June's shot went through Casey's shoulder. It was a perfect shot, on the edge of his body armor but missing the joint. He was bleeding and hurting, but he would live. Sarah had taken her poncho off. Chuck helped her. She stretched it over June's lifeless body, the gaping wound in her head. _She got rid of the Intersect._ Chuck stood with her in the rain, gazing down at the enshrouded corpse.

"Did she lose or did she win?" Chuck asked quietly as agents moved around them.

Sarah looked at him. "Who knows? Not sure what winning and losing looked like to her."

* * *

To _dwell_ is not an activity like any other but a determination of man in which he realizes his true essence. He needs a firm dwelling place if he is not to be dragged along helplessly by the stream of time.  
-Otto Bollnow, _Lived Space_

* * *

Bryce regained consciousness. He was in a dingy motel room. He looked at his watch. _Oh, damn_.

ooOoo

 _Later, that evening_

Joe had been debriefed. She had remembered what she heard. In DC, the shocks were already being felt. Arrests were being made. Most of the Fulcrum Executive Committee was dead, torn apart by fragments in the conference room. Getta Garland was one of the ones who died. There were still parts of file folders intact. Not just names, but plans. Joe supplied what was missing. In a few hours, a few days at most, Fulcrum would be a bad memory with a stupid name.

Casey was in a New Orleans hospital, recovering. Chuck was on the bed in his hotel room, freshly showered. Sarah was wrapped around him, freshly showered too. They had washed the day from each other, then made love to each other in the warm water as it cascaded down on them.

Bryce had shown up and then had to undergo a lengthy video conference with Beckman. He had nothing to say for himself beyond a muttered apology. The conference had clearly been unpleasant. He had gone back to his room, no longer the Andersons. Just his.

Sarah unwound herself from Chuck and sat up. She looked him in the eye. "Chuck, my real name is Sam. And...I want to tell you some things, about my Dad and my time with him. About my last mission before Burbank. Budapest." Chuck sat up to listen.

ooOoo

 _Two days later_

They were getting ready to leave New Orleans. Ready to head to Burbank. Heading home. Sarah held Chuck's hand as they entered Casey's hotel room. He would be released in another day or two. That was good. The staff was terrified of him and he was getting restless.

Inside, they found Casey sitting up, laughing. Joe was seated in her wheelchair beside his bed, laughing too.

They both looked up and smiled as Sarah and Chuck came in.

"Well," Joe said, "look what the cat drug in. I didn't expect you two to be vertical for another few days at least." Joe's eyes twinkled and Casey guffawed.

"You should have the impossible job of trying to keep these two apart," he growled.

Joe shrugged. "No need for them to be apart. Lots of need for them to be together."

Chuck pulled a chair to Sarah and she sat down. He remained standing. "So, Joe, did they...find him?"

Joe's face clouded over. "Yes. Entombed in the damn fountain. I've been eating breakfast beside him for a long time and didn't know it." She sighed. "He brought it on himself...took that viper to his chest."

"What about you?"

"Well, I have plenty of money of my own, and as Gretta's next of kin, and with the help of your... _what's her name, Beckman?..._ I will likely keep the house and so on. Movers are there now, getting Gretta's trash out of the place. I'm going to re-decorate. Casey here was giving me some suggestions."

Chuck gave Casey a look. Casey shrugged, but only with his good shoulder. 'Hey, I don't read _Garden and Gun_ for nothing."

"Do you think you could get to Burbank sometime soon, Joe. Maybe in a few months?" Sarah.

Joe gave Sarah a knowing smile. "Sure. I'm still getting stronger, and I hope by the time... _that_ happens to be out of this contraption for good."

"You know?" Sarah asked.

Joe glanced at Casey and winked. "I've heard."

"You know?" Chuck asked Casey.

"Kid, you two are either going to be dead or married. Never was any third option. And you ain't dead, goddamnit." Casey smiled.

ooOoo

 _One month later, Burbank_

Everyone was at Casey's apartment. Chuck and Sarah had moved into an apartment in the complex that mysteriously came open. Susie Lou and Dan had a place in an apartment complex nearby. But all were now in Casey's apartment, including Ellie and Devon. Beckman was on the monitor.

"Chuck, I've talked with Sarah, and I know the two of you have talked. She has been transferred to the NSA. You are now an NSA employee too, although you have no fitting job title. You are on the books as an analyst, like Dan here, who as you know has been relocated to Burbank. He will be the team's actual analyst.

"You all are my new team, the Intersect team." Beckman looked around the room but came back to Chuck "But you, Chuck, are _mine_ only in a manner of speaking. You are no one's property.

"You are going to run the team, choose your missions, decide what you will and will not do. I will supply you with support, funds...advice, if you want it," she smiled and everyone laughed, "but I am going to trust you and this team to do all the good you can. Ellie and Susie Lou and Devon (he's the team physician, by the way, though he's keeping his job at the hospital) are now working on two problems. How to make sure that the Intersect does you no permanent harm for as long as you have it, and how to get it out of your head if that is possible. Only you are the Intersect; only you know how to be the Intersect. I'm going to stop trying to tell you that. I trust you, Chuck.

"If Ellie and Susie Lou can come up with a way to get it out, and that's what you want, then that's what we will do. You've earned the right to whatever life you want. If that happens, you'll be, as Casey might say, honorably discharged. Until then, I hope we can together make the world a little safer."

Chuck took Sarah's hand. He looked at her. Although Casey knew, and Ellie clearly suspected, they still had not told anyone about their engagement. Bryce knew, but he had been recalled to DC, to meet the new Director and to be given a new mission. Chuck wanted to wait to make it official until he had asked properly, and given Sarah a ring. She smiled at him, beautiful, joyful, confident.

"That...that all sounds fine. Thank you, General. Really. Thanks."

"You are welcome. As of right now, cloaked work is underway to convert the Buy More's sub-basement into a base of operations. In a few weeks, it should be ready to be used. Questions?"

Casey cleared his throat. "So we're stuck with Morgan, and with Jeff and Lester?"

"They really are good camouflage, Casey. No one is going to put 'intelligence' and those folks together. Beckman out."

"Shit."

ooOoo

Casey was driving around Burbank, glad to be back. He had gotten the Crown Vic from the repair shop. All signs of Loretta's attack were gone. He felt a little hungry, so he pulled into a promising-looking greasy spoon. He took a stool at the counter. A tall, heavy-set brunette took his order, a slice of pie and a cup of coffee. He looked around. He felt good. Beckman had listened to him about the team. Yes, it was a big circle of trust, and yes, it included Captain Awesome, and that could cause trouble down the road. But it was a real team, run by a good man and a good woman. It felt good to be a part of it. He felt better than he had in a long, long time. Even his shoulder was loosening up, feeling less achy.

The big waitress made a quick turn when another customer called for her, and she knocked Casey's coffee cup over. She apologized, grabbed a towel from beneath the bar, and began to wipe it up. Another waitress, younger and small, with wavy auburn hair, came to help her. Casey looked at the new waitress' face. He had seen that face before, or a version of it. He had loved that face before, or a version of it. _Oh, my God._ She noticed his stare and smiled at him. Her name tag read "Alex". That could not be a coincidence. Casey extended his hand and realized it was shaking. He willed it to stop. "Hi! I'm John."

She shook his hand. "Alex. Glad to meet you."

ooOoo

Morgan was pissed. Chuck's new place did not have a Morgan Door. He would have to use the front one like everyone else. Morgan was sure something was up with Chuck. And with Sarah. Not just between them, although they were hopelessly lost in each other. No, something else was going on. And Casey, he was part of it too. Why had Chuck disappeared for a few days? Why had Casey disappeared at the same time? What happened to his shoulder? Where had Sarah gone? Why had she left? No one would give him a straight answer. He decided it was time to get a Subway sandwich (since stakeouts made him hungry) and hide in the apartment complex's bushes. He knew the bushes well. He had watched Ellie from them for years. _You know, she's right, that is creepy._ But this was different. A puzzle. He was going to get to the bottom of it somehow.

ooOoo

Sarah was on the couch. The pizza box was empty. The movie credits were rolling. She was looking forward to a makeout session on the couch, one that would trail clothes all the way to the bedroom. Chuck was gazing at her in that way he did and she was feeling warm all over and...damp...in special places. She made herself concentrate though. She wanted to ask a question.

"Chuck, why didn't you ask Bryce about Jill? Didn't you want to know what he had to say for himself about that?"

Chuck looked surprised. "No, I guess I didn't. Bryce and I were never friends in the way I thought. We were frat brothers but not really friends. I liked him; he liked me. But I don't know that Bryce can have friends in the sense I thought we were friends…"

"Ok. I get that. But still, why not ask about Jill?"

He looked at her and gave a brief explanation. "Because I have you."

She felt flush, head to toe, with delight and desire. She leaned into him. It was time for the making-out to commence. "Good answer, Chuck."

"You are always my answer, Sarah."

ooOoo

Bryce carefully placed his suit on the couch of his new hotel room in Mexico City. It was encased in clear, thin plastic. The suit and the room made him think of New Orleans. Of Sarah. Of Chuck. Of Sarah and Chuck. He sighed, twisting his lips to the side of his face.

 _I screwed up._

He went down to the bar. He looked at his watch. Maybe he could find some company for the evening. It was time for James Bond.

ooOoo

Chuck was sprawled on the bed, snoring quietly. Sarah was beside him, her body in contact with his. She looked up at the ceiling, feeling relaxed and warm and comfortable. He was still the Intersect. She was still technically a spy. Fulcrum was gone, along with any known immediate threat to Chuck or the team. There would be new threats, she knew, and the team, bigger, was more vulnerable. But they were a team. She and Chuck were partners. No one would hurt him as long as she drew breath. And she knew he would never hurt her. They would find a way. She was still technically a spy. But a spy in love, a spy at home. It struck her that 'Omaha' was nearly an anagram for 'home'. It had been for her. She had left her home and found it.

* * *

 **A/N2** That's that. Thanks, folks. A short Postlude to follow. Love to hear your thoughts.


	24. Postlude: Brave New World

**A/N1** The Postlude.

Don't own _Chuck._

* * *

 **Sarah vs. Omaha**

POSTLUDE

 _Brave New World_

* * *

The top was down. The Porsche was whining its way along the curvy coastal highway. Blonde hair, long and shiny, whipped in the wind. Sarah's sunglasses hid her eyes but nothing could hide her smile. Chuck sank blissfully into the bucket seat beside her, his own sunglasses allowing him to look at her beautiful, sunlit face without squinting or using his hand to shade his eyes.

He had put a heavy basket in the trunk, filled with food and champagne, a heavy blanket to put on the ground and a ring in a small, rectangular red box.

Yes, she had already said _yes_. Still, Chuck's heart threatened to stop each time he thought about asking, about putting the ring on her finger, about making it all real. Marriage. Partners. Sarah and Chuck. Chuck and Sarah.

Morgan had told Chuck of a place off-the-beaten-path, a place where no one could find them, where they could put the heavy blanket to other uses after picnicking. Chuck fully planned on doing just that. He had dreamed of her saying yes, of slipping the ring on her finger and then of being clutched warmly inside her, his wife-to-be. She was the meaning of his life.

ooOoo

Sarah had transferred from the Company to the NSA, but she still had her spy skills, of course. She knew that the small, rectangular red box was in the basket. She knew what it meant. Under her shirt and jeans, she had a surprise for her husband to be, underwear tiny and red for him to remove when the time was right, as part of the celebration, as part of making love to her. He would pop like the champagne. She adjusted herself in the driver's seat as the image filled her mind. She had been daydreaming about this day, and she was...eager. So very eager. She unconsciously pushed harder on the accelerator, eager to be alone with Chuck, in her red next-to-nothing, alone in the sunlight, alone in love.

Him wearing her and only her. Her husband-to-be. He was her gift.

She felt full, full of life, full of love, full of so much, a cornucopia.

ooOoo

Chuck's picnic mix clicked over to a new song. Marshall Crenshaw's _Hold It._ Song playing, Chuck singing along, they found the spot Morgan told them about, and the hidden entrance in the trees alongside the road.

 _Hold it, try to remember  
_ _Hold it, hold on tight forever  
_ _To your life and love every night and day  
_ _Hold on and don't let it slip away_

She pulled the Porsche in, checking the rearview to make sure that no one would see it from the road. As she shut it off, Chuck bounded out and retrieved the basket. He waited for her and took her hand. They walked for a little while, again trusting Morgan's directions. After passing along a pathway barely detectable, they emerged in a breathtaking spot in the sun. Chuck spread the blanket and Sarah sat down cross-legged on it.

He surprised her. She turned to take some of the food out of the basket, and he was beside her with the ring box open. She pushed herself up onto her knees and, kneeling, took the ring from the box; Chuck took it from her and slid it on her finger. He said nothing; she said nothing. They both knew. They had already said the words, texted them, anyway. They were vowed to each other.

They kissed warm, long and slow. When they pulled apart, Chuck yanked the champagne bottle out and popped the cork on it. He poured her a glass in a clear plastic flute and one for himself. He held hers out to her, the golden champagne trembling as his hand trembled, trembled in happiness. The hand she extended trembled for the same reason.

"Your champagne, Mrs. Bartowski."

* * *

 **A/N2** I was taking out time to play Marshall Crenshaw's _Hold It_ and Michael Penn's _Brave New World_ on the guitar as I wrote this. Think of the first of those songs as the playing during the Postlude, the second over these credits.

My thanks to _David Carner_ and _WvonB_ for lots of pre-reading (at a ridiculous pace). They were helpful and kind. And of course, they are to blame for nothing. Thanks to those of you who reviewed, especially the frequent reviewers. You have been an integral part of my writing process. Those of you I have PMed frequently: thanks much!

Maybe I will see you around! As I said the last chapter, love to hear your parting thoughts! Even if you are reading this well after I finished it.


End file.
